May 2010

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On Sunday as I was racing down the steep hills of central Missouri, flashes of color dotting the asphalt caught my eye. Riders from previous heats had tossed empty water bottles, goo wrappers (a high-energy food eaten during long races that tastes like overly-sweetened toothpaste) and anything else that had been previously strapped to their bikes, on the road. And although I doubt that extra zillionth of an ounce wrapper fragment would have weighed them down, their behavior reminded me of a verse in Hebrews:

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” Hebrews 12:1 ESV

Watching endurance athletes as they gear up for a race adds great imagery to this verse. Everything is evaluated for its efficiency and only the necessities are retained. This careful evaluation continues throughout the entire race as each curve in the road or dip of a hill is evaluated. Racers who make proper adjustments and keep their eyes focused on the course ahead finish much stronger than those who rely on brute strength alone. I believe this is true in our spiritual life as well.

The Bible tells me that God has a course mapped out for me, and although the finish line is nothing more than a glimmer tucked at the top of a long, steep hill, God has provided enough brightly marked cones to get me there. And I know if I would but keep my eyes glued to the orange markers, I could avoid many of the pitfalls that slow me down. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to let my eyes wonder to another path, one lined with delicate flowers and tall, swaying trees, that veers, ever so slightly to the right.

As a writer, I hear a lot of my friends talk of weasel words. Weasel words are those unnecessary linking verbs and adjectives that weaken your writing. But weasels aren’t limited to the page. Life can be riddled with weasels as well; those unnecessary time-sappers that get in the way of effective ministry. If we let them. As of today, I have determined not to let these varmints wreak havoc in my spiritual garden! As my commitments mount and every task vies for prominence, I will go over my schedule with a fine-toothed comb, exterminating those pesky weasels one by one until I can truly say that I have followed whole-heartedly the course God mapped out for me.

What about you? What are your greatest time-sappers and how will you get rid of them?

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I’ve been talking a lot about discouragement, and I’m sure your hoping I’ll move on to another topic. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not quite done with that joy-sapper yet. Although today’s post attacks this type of negative thinking from a different angle, through encouragement. Besides spirit-filled worship and Scripture meditation, encouragement is quite possibly one of the greatest weed-killers there is. (You might remember from post my previous posts that discouragement is nothing more than a nasty weed threatening to crowd out the still, soft voice of God.) Yesterday I experienced first hand just how powerful a few encouraging words can be.

I’m a thriathlete and yesterday was my first race of the season. After a bitterly cold winter and a rainy spring, I was not looking forward to the sixty-two degree lake water. In fact, I dreaded the entire race, my normal pre-race enthusiasm drained by, yup, you guessed it, discouraging thoughts. Pre-occupied with my latest novel, I haven’t trained as hard as I should have and standing with one foot in the sand and the other in the lake, I felt very unprepared. Watching women from previous heats turn around and head as fast as they could to shore once the cold water and strong waves hit didn’t help eliminate my fears. But, unprepared or not, I had trained eight months for this event, had spent $80’s on the entrance fee and had spent the past three hours just trying to get there. (That’s a story for another blog. Whew!) And swim, doggie paddle or float, I was going to finish. Even if it killed me.

Unfortunately, halfway through the bike portion of the race, my feet still thawing and every muscle in my body revolting, my resolve wavered. Suddenly all the reasons why I couldn’t make it flashed through my mind and before long my speed slowed. And it was then, halfway up the longest hill on the course, that I passed a man sitting on the side of the road shouting words of encouragement. I didn’t know him. I’d never see him again and in all likelihood, he was there to cheer someone else on, but it didn’t matter. Somehow hearing a stranger tell me that I could do it gave me the umph to make it up the hill.

We’ve all had moments when we’ve wanted to give up. When it seems like the hill we’re on will never end, or when we feel ill-equipped to finish our length of the race, but it is amazing how much smaller the hill appears and how much stronger we feel when someone offers a kind word or a smile. And now that I have experienced for myself just how powerful a kind word of encouragement can be, I’m going to be purposeful in my speech. I’m going to take my eyes off myself and my “hill” so I can focus on others. I will diligently look for ways to speak words of encouragement.

I wonder…when was the last time I encouraged my daughter? When was the last time I thanked my husband and told him what a great dad he is? When was the last time I called a friend and told her how much she meant to me? Sadly, I’ve spent way too much time checking off my to do list and not enough time pouring out the love of Christ.

Come back Wednesday to hear how I attack my next “joy-sapper”, those pesky little weasels that drain my time and make my life less productive.

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About a week ago, I shared my struggles with discouragement. It’s funny how often I want to keep these internal struggles to myself, to present a false image of spirituality to others, but I am beginning to realize how important authenticity is. In my latest novel (still in the editing stages) the majority of Alice and Trent’s struggles arise from self-isolation. Sure, they’ve got issues. Major issues. (Don’t we all?) But I think their issues would be much more manageable if they would only reach out and let others help them. We weren’t meant to go it alone. As I like to say, we’ve all got skeletons in our closet but they’ll never go away if we keep the doors locked.

I think there’s something freeing about open, honest confession–when we share our deepest struggles with one another and allow others to help us. Not only does it free us to live truly authentic lives, it also adds a level of accountability. When I shared my struggles with discouragement with you, it added an additional level of motivation to overcome them. And now, when I share my first step on this road of truth-claiming, (I call it this because I am tossing out the lies and laying hold to the truth I have in Christ), knowing my previous struggles, you can rejoice with me. So it’s a win-win situation!

The other night I was over-tired. I had company coming from Uruguay and I really wanted to finish the first draft of my current novel before they arrived, so I was pulling some horrendous hours. Mind-numbing, eye-blurring hours. But I did it! By Monday night, I had written almost 89,000 words and had three scenes left and one more day to write them. No problem, right? After two months (I write fast. Either that or I’m slightly ocd, but that’s another post.) I could finally see the finish line. You’d think I’d be rejoicing, but I wasn’t. As I set my computer aside, a wave of discouragement washed over me, threatening to steal my joy of accomplishment. Self-doubt spewed through my mind like popcorn kernels popping off a hot kettle and those tiny little weeds of doubt tried to sink their roots into my heart.

So what did I do? I grabbed my weed-killer! The first thing I did was make the determination that I would not, would not, absolutely would not, allow those nasty thoughts to camp out in my brain. I threw them out like the trash they were. I have a phrase I like to repeat to myself when I am frightened, discouraged or sad. It’s “Just you and me God.” I find myself saying that a lot, but it reminds me that none of this peripheral junk matters. God loves me, and I’m holding on to Him, and whether my novels thrive or flop is inconsequential.

And then I went to bed, in peace. The next morning as I was reading my Bible, God spoke words of encouragement that both reaffirmed my commitment the night before and strengthened my heart to complete the final leg of my first. It came from two verses. The first I just happened upon as I was flipping to my page marker. It was in Exodus 34:6 and it reminded me of who God is.

“Then the LORD came down in the cloud and stood there with him and proclaimed his name, the LORD. And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness…”

I tucked this in the back pocket of my mind and moved on to the Psalms. I follow along verse by verse and just happened to be on Psalm 139 this morning. We’ve all heard this passage a hundred times and would be quick to agree with its premise. We are created by God, known by God, loved by God and guided by God. But this morning, verse 16 jumped out at me.

Psalm 139: 16  “Your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.”

Putting those two verses together annihilated any remaining weeds and filled my heart with excitement for the day to come because I knew whether this novel soared or fell flat on its face, it was all part of God’s plan for me. All of my days are written in His book, even those I may initially deem to be failures. And because God is a God of love and mercy, even those painful days when I feel like I have egg on my face are steps forward as God works out His loving plan. Which means all I have to do is take that next step, resting in His loving, guiding and protecting hand.

You may be happy to know that I completed my novel and I am now working on a book proposal which I hope to present to an agent by the end of the month, and I’m sure a few weeds will try to sprout as insecurities fight for prominence, but laying hold of the promises in these two verses, I’ve already got my hand on the trigger! Watch out crabgrass, here I come!

Just you and me, God. Just you and me.

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Although I haven’t finished Yesterday’s Promise, what I’ve read so far has captured my imagination. In fact, I was hooked from page one! I’ve never read a book that was able to draw me to its heroine so early on before, from the very first page, and yet, Yesterday’s Promise does just that!  I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of fairy tale novels. I want characters that I can relate to. Real characters living real lives. Characters like Hanna Johns, a single mom struggling to make ends meet, following Jesus the best she can. If you have a Hanna in your life, tell them about Yesterday’s Promise. Better yet, buy them a copy as a way to encourage them to keep on keeping on.

Here’s a glimpse of our cyber-conversation:

Me: Hannah Johns, the heroine of Yesterday’s Promise, was likely every mother’s dream. She was involved in ministry, others-focused and overall, had her head on her shoulders…until, she throws caution to the wind and does the unthinkable and marries a total stranger—clad in biker gear no less—less than a week after they met. What do you think it was about Brock that drew her to him?

Delia: Well, I’m sure she couldn’t help but notice that he was gorgeous! Brock Ellis is  the typical tall, dark and handsome hero, with steel-blue eyes, broad shoulders, narrow hips—and a killer smile! J But Hannah was first drawn to him because, despite the biker-boy façade, Brock was kind-hearted—a perfectly gentle gentleman. Plus…let’s face it, she was an innocent. Her entire life, prior to the story, had been wrapped up in numerous ministries and activities within the church. She lived to please others. She was an innocent, and Brock was charming, gorgeous, and made no secret of his attraction to her. It had to be a heady experience to have someone—especially someone like Brock—totally focused on her, for a change.

Me: When you were a teen, were you more like the choir singing Hannah or the chase after the biker Hannah?

Delia: Well, to be fair, Hannah didn’t “chase after” the biker. She simply found herself in the role of “damsel in distress” opposite his “he-man to the rescue.” What followed was what makes Yesterday’s Promise a good read.

But in answer to your question, I was probably a little of both. Like Hannah, I was involved in just about every aspect of the church: played the piano, sang in the choir, led song services and sang solo, directed the junior choir on a temporary basis. I attended Christian school from 5th grade all the way through high school. My life was the church. That said, I must confess I was always good at spotting a cute guy. (grin)

Me:  As a single mom, what were Hannah’s greatest struggles?

Delia: Like any single mom, making a living was one of her top concerns. She adored her son and wanted the best for him, and yet…while she was grateful for her job, singing in a dinner lounge was not where she wanted to be five years down the road. She had big goals and dreams, and trying to achieve them while keeping food in little Davey’s mouth was another of her struggles.

Me: What aspect of Hannah’s personality do you think your readers will most relate to or connect with?

Mothers will, without a doubt, understand her determination to do whatever is necessary to take care of her son. And I think any Christian female will relate to Hannah’s love for God and her desire to follow His leading. They should also completely “get” her confusion: Is what’s happening between her and Brock God’s leading…or her heart’s?

Me: What is Hannah’s greatest weakness?

Delia: While Hannah’s faith in God never wavers, her confidence in herself has taken a beating. She has a tendency to pull her sins—real and imagined—out of the blood of Christ and beat herself up for them again and again.

Me: What do you most admire about Hannah?

Delia: Despite her self-doubts and recriminations, Hannah ultimately rests in God’s promises. She’s human, so yes, she sometimes questions circumstances. But at the end of the day, Hannah Johns knows in her heart of hearts that her heavenly Father has her life completely in control, and that He cannot and will not fail. I think I borrowed that aspect of her personality from my grandmother, who more than anyone else I’ve ever known, loved God from the inside out. He was the Lover of her soul, and she adored Him. Hannah has that same quiet spiritual confidence and devotion. I admire it immensely.

Find out more about Delia, Yesterday’s Promise and follow her blog tour at: http://www.delialatham.net/blogtour.htm.

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Have you ever looked at your children and thought, “Wow, that is just like my husband!” I’m often tickled by the little mannerisms my daughter and husband share. I am even more amused at family reunions when I see my brother and sister-in-laws walking the same way, using the same phrases, hand motions and facial expressions. Most of the time, these little quirks are endearing, but there are other times when habits, attitudes and behaviors learned are not so charming, like when my daughter throws a Jennifer-sized fit!

I’m an emotional person by nature. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I cry at commercials, laugh out loud at knock-knock jokes and at times, allow my emotions to take control. Perhaps it’s the writer in me. Going from devastated to elated at the drop of a hat has allowed me to dive deep into the emotions of my characters. Although I doubt those on the receiving end would view my emotionalism in such a positive light.

When I was a little girl my parents often told me the poem about a little girl with a Jekyll and Hyde personality. It goes like this: “There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid.” As an adult, I wonder if images of me, face to the floor, kicking and screaming, flashed through my parent’s minds every time they recited this verse.

As an adult, my knees are no longer bruised from red-faced temper-tantrums, and for the most part, I keep my bursts of frustration in che, but in its place another crippling emotion has settled in…and even worse, it has stretched its entangling roots into the heart of my daughter. This nasty weed that tries to crowd out the still, soft, encouraging voice of God is the weed of discouragement. Sometimes it amazes me how, as an athlete, I can push through the most difficult physical trials, sprint up the steepest hills, swim against rough currents, all without a hint of discouragement, and yet I crumble at the slightest provocation in so many other areas of my life. Perhaps it is a tight schedule with a long list of to-dos, or perhaps it is an unkind word received when I least expect it, or maybe it is an expectation unmet, but regardless of the cause, sadly, I often respond the same. With defeat, quickly throwing up my hands with an “I can’t do this” response. And even more sadly, my daughter, who watches my every move like a tender fawn learning to run, has sprouted the same weeds.

It is up to me to teach her how to kill them.

And I have decided to handle these pervasive emotions as I would any other weed: with weed killer. I will not entertain them. I will not feed them. I will deal with them quickly, swiftly and fully. Like powerful weed-killer, I will replace those negative, self-defeating thoughts with Words of truth found in God’s Holy Word. And I will teach my daughter to do the same.

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(So maybe mindless babble isn’t my style. Had to turn this into a devotion. grin. )

Meet Linda:

Linda got her hair done last week. Hubby thought he could help alleviate all the emotions that come with aging. She doesn’t age well. Thought she would, back when her skin was smooth as glass, but then came her first sunspot, right on top of her sunken in cheeks.

Yeah, her cheeks have sunken in lately. Comes with the territory of growing old. Funny, ten years ago, a thin face seemed appealing. Everyone wanted high cheekbones, right? But not skeletal high. Now she’s looking to inject a little padding beneath her skin. Maybe a shot of botox. You know, to fight gravity. You may think thirty-five’s too young to worry about gray hair and crows feet, but really, the thirties are the worst! You’re too young to have that crown of glory the Bible talks about but too old to hang with the college crowd. Not that you’d want to. They’d keep you up to late, and you go to bed by ten. Like clockwork. And you still wake up with bags and circles.

So anyway, here she was at the salon, surrounded by all these spring chickens with their smooth skin and round cheeks. Just being there aged her another ten years. At least it looked that way as she and Sandy stood side by side in front of the mirror.

“Is there a cut that can take off ten years?” she asks.

“Short hair always looks youthful. Playful.”

“Will it hide my Neanderthal brow?”

A look of confusion.

“I mean, my beetle brow.”

The girl was lost, like she couldn’t see the massive sun visor hanging over Linda’s eyes.

“You know, that thick bone on my forehead that sends a dark shadow over my cavernous eyes.”

Ahh, now she got it. And yeah, maybe bangs would work, but short was out. Anything shorter than your chin—We’re we talking bangs, here?—was more Neanderthal than her forehead. But maybe if she swept it across her face and over one eye—Did she really need to use both?—maybe they would detract from her brow.

OK, so bangs were out, but at least a shorter cut would hide my massive jaw.

~                   ~                    ~                   ~                    ~

I think everyone over thirty struggles with aging. Our bones start to ache, our energy wanes and we don’t seem to recover from activities and illnesses like we once did. Perhaps these creaks, aches and snaps remind us of the inevitable–that our time on earth is short. But I also think much of our struggles have to do with our worldly, distorted view of beauty. And with television programs like The Real Housewives of New York City, it is easy to get caught up in the glamor and glitz. We see women with smooth skin and tiny waists and want to be just like them. Or so we think. And yet, if we were to take a step back and contemplate what constitutes true beauty, I think we would be surprised.

My daughter is beautiful. There is not a day that goes by that I am not taken aback by her delicate beauty, but it is not her red curly hair and shiny green eyes that catch my attention. It is the softness of her face as she nestles a baby at church, and the gentle way she interacts with the neighbor girl. It is how her cheeks blush red when someone offers her a compliment and the glimmer in her eyes when she watches a bunny rabbit hop across our yard. No, it is not her outward appearance that makes her beautiful. It is her gentle, loving, and at times meek, nature that causes her eyes to shine and her cheeks to glow.

The Bible tells us that charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting. Everyone with grey hair and crows feet can attest to that. But a woman who fears the Lord, is to be praised. (Personalized: Proverbs 31:30) Our outward beauty will last but a moment. Our inner beauty will touch hearts and transform lives, leaving a legacy for generations to come.

So the next time you and I stare in the mirror with wrinkle cream in one hand and hair die in the other, let us remember that our beauty does not come from the outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it comes from our inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. (Personalized: 1 Peter 3:3-1)

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I can still remember the unspeakable joy that filled my heart the morning our daughter was born. The exhaust I had felt only moments before was gone. The pain I had experienced during labor–nothing more than a distant memory. But for Lisa Newkirk, author of Super Sticks, at the very moment when most mothers are rejoicing, her terror was just beginning. Watching as the nurse whisked away her precious daughter, covered in bandages, to an awaiting medevac, Lisa was gripped with pain and fear. Would her daughter make it through the night? What if she never got to hold her in her arms? And if she did make it, how would Lisa care for her? A month ago, she had never even heard of Spina Bifida. And in this moment of pain and fear, words failed her.

Women from Lisa’s church surrounded her and provided around the clock help. They brought food to Lisa’s family while she was in the hospital and transported Lisa’s breast milk to her baby—a baby that she had only had a glimpse of. Most of these women were moms with young children, and although their constant care and faithful prayers were appreciated, seeing them with their babies while Lisa hadn’t even held her own cut deep.

But comfort was on the way.

“A lady I had never met came to my hospital room with a suitcase full of pictures,” Lisa says. “Her child had spina bifida, just like mine. She told me not to believe all the horror stories the doctors had told me.”

“This woman gave me hope. And we are still friends today.”

And now Lisa wants to offer that same support and comfort to other parents and children who are learning to deal with Spina Bifida.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

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Mandy sits with her back pressed against the park bench. She watches a pair of toddlers chase after a flock of birds. Giggles erupt from their cherry lips and the ends of their curly hair dance in the wind. To her right, an elderly couple sit shoulder to shoulder, a book spread between them. The wife lifts her face and the husband looks down at her with such love and admiration; it’s as if his world is suspended in time.

A flutter of movement to the right catches Mandy’s attention. She turns to the sound and her heart skips a beat as her gaze falls on Cameron’s chiseled features. His deep blue eyes sparkle in the mid-morning sun.

The corners of Mandy’s mouth upturn and a giggle settles in the back of her throat, although he has done nothing to warrant her smiles. Nothing but look at her—which is enough.

Aah! The beauty of romance! We can all remember our first love, that first look, first smile, first kiss, that set our hearts on fire. But for some of us, those memories are bittersweet, tainted with the pain of loss and abandonment. Perhaps we are afraid to try again. And so we sit, hidden inside houses, behind computers, or perhaps in the midst of a busy crowd where we can blend unnoticed amidst the mindless chatter.

And yet, even as we hide, peering through the walls that we have erected around our hearts, we long for something more. Something special. Something beautiful. We long for a love that will penetrate to our deepest selves, exposing our fears and weaknesses, not to flaunt them or use them against us, but to hold them in a tender embrace.

This morning as I was listening to a song by Jason Gray, I was reminded of that moment in time when God reached down and touched my heart. Oh, I had done the “religious” thing for quite some time. Followed the rules, said all the right prayers, voiced plenty of amen’s and hallelujah’s, but the emptiness in my heart remained. One day, filled with a pain so deep it consumed me, I cried out to God. “Why won’t you love me!”

His reply swept over me like a rushing wind. “You won’t let Me.”

And that was when my divine romance began.

More Like Falling in Love, Jason Gray