July 2010

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We’re a “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” type of people. We take great pride in a job well done, an obstacle conquered, and a goal reached. Self-help books frequent the best-seller’s lists with titles like “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” “Act like a Woman, Think Like a Man,” and “The Seven Principles For Making Marriage Work,” and yet, society as whole, has not changed. Not to say that there hasn’t been progress. Better health practices, iphones and wireless internet obviously has made life easier. But morally, for the most part, we’re the same. At least from where I’m sitting.  Some say we’re worse. I’m not sure if that’s the case, but I certainly don’t see the euphoria that all these self-help books and documentaries should have created, if they worked.

As a writer, I spend a great deal of time studying others, and once you make it past the outward smile or the teeth-gritting stick-to-itness, you begin to see some very dark and lonely hearts. And although I am limited to the study of those with whom I am in contact with, from where I sit, it seems like those who frequent the self-help section the most are often some of the most miserable. Oh, they’ll make progress for a while. They’ll read the book, post notes to their mirrors, door frames and cupboards, but over time, their best-efforts fizzle, sometimes even leaving them worse than they were before. Where is the progress the five steps promise? Ah, but we’ve found the solution. We’ll just try another book, and then another, and then another. And if we try harder, and commit, next time will be different. We’ll find the perfect relationship, lose those pesky twenty pounds, eradicate our insecurities, and suddenly gain the confidence to feel comfortable in our skin. And so the never-ending cycle continues, our drive for perfection fueled by our momentary successes until our lives are enslaved by goal sheets, to do lists, and frequently chanted affirmations.

But then there are others who seem to float through life on a perpetual peace cloud. While our marriages fail, theirs deepen. While bitterness consumes us, they are filled with joy, peace, and increasing love. Not a love of convenient reciprocation, but a genuine love that bubbles from within, coloring all they see and do. And so, we raise them up onto our “self-help” pedestal and make an analysis of what they do, focusing on their outward behaviors instead of what drives them. So we run for another rag and spruce up the outside of our cup, leaving the inside, our inner selves, untouched. Because stick-to-itness can only take us so far, and its effects will last but a moment. Life changes, real life changes, the kind only the Father can provide, last forever.

In Matthew 11:28 Jesus calls us to surrender our burdens so that we can relax in His arms. “Come to Me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for yours souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Jesus calls us to stop striving, grasping, reaching…performing. He bids us to come to Him so that we may rest. And as we grow in Him, He takes care of all the rest.

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There have been so many times when an article idea burns itself in my brain or a verse jumps out at me and triggers an entire page worth of notes and I dive for my computer, ready to put my thoughts to type when, halfway through the post, memories of my past behaviors and comments stop me in my tracks. To make it even worse, I found out a few days ago that my mother is following my blog. Now talk about intimidating! There’s no fooling mom. I can present a mask well enough to you all, but she’s seen me at my worst, and probably even has the pictures to prove it. How I would love to be a Ruth! Known not for what I write, but instead for how I live my life. Luckily I do have a “Boaz” who keeps me on my toes and reminds me, not through words but through action, what it really means to follow Christ. As the saying goes, integrity shows itself when no one’s watching. And yet, people are watching, when we’re least expecting it. And what we do on the day to day speaks volumes.

This morning as I was reading Ruth, Boaz’s description of her struck a cord. He said, “Now don’t worry about a thing, my daughter. I will do whatever is necessary, for everyone in this town knows you are a virtuous woman.”

Everyone in the town knew Ruth was virtuous. Morally excellent. Not because they’d read her blog or listened to her lengthy prayers, but because they watched her in action. And then listen to what Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law, had to say about Boaz. “Just be patient, my daughter, until we hear what happens. The man won’t rest until he has settled things today.”

Ruth and Boaz were people of integrity, and everyone knew it. Their integrity drew them together. The other day I happened upon a thread talking about marriage. The general consensus seemed to be that men were pigs and women were cold. Being the romance-advocate that I am (in case you weren’t aware, I have a weekly marriage column) I had to jump in with my two-cents worth. Never a good idea, really, to go meddling in conversations that really don’t pertain to you, but I hated to see so many people give up on the fairy-tale so easily. The response I received in return made me think. The original poster told me that I obviously hadn’t met all the men who refused to commit. And to be honest, she was right. In my circle, I know very few men like that. The men I know are great fathers and committed husbands. But this got me thinking. I know, never a good idea, and here comes the worst idea yet–I’m gonna share my conclusion with you all. Good thing hurling tomatoes can’t penetrate my computer screen. Ready for the bombshell?

I wondered why my experiences were so different from those of my friend. I realized it had to do with who I associated with and where I spent my time. (Sorry to disappoint you ladies, but you’re not gonna find Prince Charming at your local pub.) If you want to find a man, or a friend, with integrity, you’ve got to be a woman of integrity, because like it or not, birds of a feather do flock together. Why do I love my husband? Not because he’s dashing and strong (although he is <grin>) but because he’s a man of integrity. It’s what I see in him when he thinks no one is watching that draws my heart the most. And his consistency has challenged me to be a better wife and mother, and a more committed follower of Christ.

So what is integrity? Integrity is going the extra mile when you could have stopped at one. Integrity is doing a job well even if no one will notice. Integrity is offering a hand, speaking a word of kindness, and refusing to hide behind nominal Christianity. Integrity is opening your ears to that still small voice and replying, “Speak Lord, your servant is listening.” And then doing what God asks.

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We’ve all had those moments in our life when we’re ready to throw in the towel. We’ve prayed and prayed, fervently and with faith, for something or someone, to no avail. And we’ve all had those  moments when God’s Spirit has burned within us so strongly, we just knew things were going to turn around, our loved ones were going to finally take that leap of faith, our house was going to sell, we were going to get that job. Whatever. But then the moment passes, and our loved ones are still headed down a different road, the house continues to sit, and the job we’ve worked so hard and long for is given to someone else. So what do we do? When is enough enough?

I’ve been on both sides of this coin many times. I have moments where my faith is so strong I’m ready to turn mountains into mole-hills and to command trees to uproot themselves and jump into the sea. But I’ve also had many moments, way more than I’d like to admit, where I’ve thrown my hands in the air with a scowl and a vehement accusation hurled at God.

Yesterday God gave me just a glimmer of His heart, and it overwhelmed me with sadness. I’m not sure if sadness is quite the word. Sadness mixed with intense longing. I couldn’t stop crying, and praying. As I prayed, I listened to Addison Road’s “What Do I know of Holy” over and over. Like OCD over and over. Not sure why, but the song drew me. Even now, as I think about it, tears resurface. What do I know of Holy? What do I know of God? My human mind fails to comprehend. So what do I do? I box Him in to what is manageable, or understandable. Yesterday, God shattered my nice little package with an intense, overpowering love.

I understood instantly that what I was feeling was God’s heart for the person He was calling me to pray for. And I have to tell you, my human love paled in comparison to the gut wrenching emotions that swept over me. And just when I thought I was done praying, and ready to get on with my day (the laundry never did get done and that article I keep talking about never did get written) it’d hit me again, like a Mack Truck straight to the chest, and I was back to tears and desperate cries to my Holy Father.

The pain was so intense it frightened me. If God felt such heartache for this person, did it mean that the person I was praying for had walked away completely? Was God in mourning? The thought terrified me and sent me into another tailspin of fervent prayers. I begged God for mercy, for intervention, for nothing short of a miracle. And then I received an email from a fellow writer who had also been called to pray. She relayed to me the words God had spoken to her, and they resonated so deeply, I was instantly reduced, once again to tears. And more prayers. An hour later, I received another email from another friend who was also being called to pray. She, too, provided words of affirmation and encouragement. Through out the evening, my yahoo account lit up with confirmation after confirmation that I was not, was not, was not to give up. Whether it took a week, a month, a year, or even decades.

So again I ask, when is enough enough?

Never.

And now I’m going to listen to that song again. Want to join me? Oh, LORD, if you touched my face, would I know you? Touch us now. Overwhelm us with Your love.

What Do I Know of Holy

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We like the age-old cliche’, “You can’t judge a book by its cover”, but in many ways, you can. Our body language, how we dress, and the words we use speak volumes. The other day I was listening to my daughter and one of her friends talk about their favorite colors. Her friend, an ambitious, adventurous athlete, likes bold colors. Red and black were her favorites. As I listened, I started to think about how I would feel if I wore red. I’ve done it before. I have a red dress that I used to wear whenever my husband and I would go out on a hot date. Why? Because it made me feel playful and daring. But for the most part, I wear tans and blues. In the summer, I like pastels and peaches. Already you’ve got me pegged, right? A conservative, predictable Missouri housewife who prefers long walks in the park to loud social events and afternoons in the mountains rather than a day at the mall. And for the most part, everything I do reiterates the same basic story. This story is retold every time I meet a friend in a restaurant, talk on the telephone, or attend a social function.

Have you ever watched people eat? How we present ourselves in a restaurant–even our food choices–can speak volumes! And effective characterization, the kind that melds the reader’s heart with your hero or heroine’s, allows the reader to discover, for themselves, what makes the hero tick. The other day I was reading a book that felt very much like a biography. The entire first two pages were spent telling me about the character–what he did, what his personality was like, what motivated him. I barely made it past the first page. My commitment to the author pushed me to page two, but as more information was dumped on me, I finally contacted the author and, politely, told them I was done.

Information dumps are for formal interviews, not relationships, and reading is very much an intimate relationship between the reader and the hero/heroine. For those of you who are married, think back to your first few dates with your spouse. Do you remember the way you used to latch on to every word, your mind working over time as you processed and categorized all the personality cues thrown your way? Do you remember the excitement of discovering for yourself, through intimate involvement, your spouse’s favorite song, restaurant, quirky fears, and deepest longings? Part of love is the continual unveiling of one heart to another, peppered with the anticipation of discovery. But what if there had been no need to discover? What if, upon the first date, your spouse had handed you a list of all their likes and dislikes, followed by a three page essay explaining all of the momentous events in their life? Wow, how romantic that would be–not! Information dumps are total passion-killers. In fiction and in life. So why kill your reader with monotonous prattle?

Assignment: Use decorations and items in a house to create a basic personality style. You can post this as a comment or you can send it to me via facebook (Jennifer Slattery using the following email to help narrow your search) or email (slattery07@yahoo.com). Make sure to include “creative writing” in the subject line so your email doesn’t join my daily spam. Then we can all try to guess, using the comments section of this blog, what messages and personality traits you are trying to convey. Make sure to pop back with responses periodically so we can see how close our guesses were.

If you need a prompt:

Option one: A middle-aged risk taker. For this one, you could place him at an event that would display this aspect of his/her personality. How would a risk taker drive? What type of events would they participate in? How would they mentally process things? Would they prefer crowds or privacy? Nature scenes or bars? What type of clothing might they wear?

Option two: A rebellious teen who feels unloved. You could go far with this one. Perhaps she/he watches a friend’s family longingly, or is spurred to anger. Why does he/she feel unloved. Remember, don’t tell us, “Her parents never have time for her.” Show us by having her/him pop his head into his/her dad’s office only to be brushed aside. Or maybe they wake up to a post it note and an empty house.

Option three: A love-sick newly wed. What would a newly wed do on their first day of “married life”. I can remember how excited I was to dust our new apartment. I also loved the sound of my new name. Mrs. Slattery. I’d repeat it to myself again and again. Mrs. Slattery. Perhaps fresh cut flowers would be placed on the dinner table or furniture would be dusted twice.

Option four: Surprise us. <grin>

Mine:

Despite the heavy cloud cover outside, the temperature in the quaint cottage was 78 degrees and climbing, the heat from the previous day still radiating from the walls. She’d turn the air on at noon, for an hour or so, just long enough to circulate the air before her son got here. Although she knew even a cool house wouldn’t keep his lips from flapping. For twenty years she’d made his bed, washed his laundry, scheduled his doctor’s appointments, and suddenly she was incapable?

Frustration seeped into her neck as she shuffled around her cluttered kitchen. Her knees crackled and popped in rebellion and a sharp prick shot through her hip. She gritted her teeth against the pain and deliberately picked up her pace. Her carefully arranged pills sat in the cupboard, untouched. Fish oil, Glucosamine, Plus-Sixty  Vitamins, and about five others she couldn’t remember, all placed in their daily compartments. She would have tossed them, pill holder and all, if it wasn’t for Jason. No, that would be the first thing he’d check. He’d probably count out each pill, too. To make sure she’d been following his instructions. Leila snorted. Instructions? More like daily demands, neatly typed and taped to her cupboard, fridge, and bathroom mirror. The important details were highlighted in bright orange ink. And they were reiterated, verbally, with every visit. Good thing he only came by twice a week.

*                                  *                                   *                                      *                                       *

Obviously, you are just getting to know Leila, but hopefully you can see she’s aging, that she lives alone, and that she longs for independence. I think you can also visualize some key character traits of her son. If I wanted to go further, I could describe her house in more detail, perhaps have her glance at a picture of her deceased husband or of a sun-bleached, slightly tattered photo of her feeding a toddler sitting in a high chair. Bills scattered across an old desk would alert the reader to financial problems. I could have used body shape, hair style and clothing to describe her further. I’d love to know how you visualize her at this point. I’m thinking your imagination started filling in details almost immediately.

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I think it’s time I go back and read some of my own blog posts. The one about riding on the naturally flowing current would be a great start. And reminding myself of my commitment to Christ and Christ alone would help, as well. It’s funny how quickly I lose my focus and allow myself to get swept away on the “performance” tide.

Last week, in a moment of mindless inspiration, I posted a weekly schedule. Which was nothing more than a personally designed, to-do-list-prison, by the way. One thing I learned some time ago, on my own, my writing sucks. Big, rotten lemons. I know God is trying, very patiently, might I add, to show me that He alone is the source for anything good I do. Whenever I grab on to the reigns and force things, I end up with egg on my face. Conversely, all of my best writing has been the result of intimate fellowship with my Creator. Which means, instead of forcing myself to perform and meet self-imposed obligations, I need to pull back and spend more time tapping into my greatest resource.

This morning, in an effort to maintain my self-imposed schedule, I forced out some cyber-garbage. Don’t worry, you won’t have to suffer through the awkward drivel. I’ve already sent it to the trash. And all this less than a week since I made the very public commitment to follow Christ, and His leading, no matter how winding the road. But how can I follow His leading when I’m forging my own way?

Wow, this surrender thing is hard. And I’m certain I’ll have many more “jumping back into the driver’s seat” episodes, but luckily God’s grace is only a delete button (or as some like to call it–repentance) away.

As a writer, surrender is hardest when the words won’t come. Most of the time, stories and articles fly off my keyboard so fast, smoke seeps from the monitor. And when they don’t come so easily, it  can be rather tempting to focus on the final product. We can all force out a few hundred words if we try hard enough. But does our forced, human efforts glorify God? What if, when those moments hit, instead of striving harder, we worked less–and drew closer to God? I think the results would surprise us. He is, after all, way more creative than you or I. He formed a multi-galaxy universe out of nothing, remember? And one quick glance at any parable recorded in Scripture demonstrates God’s mastery of symbolism. Imagine what our libraries would be like if we would but take the time to experience, on a heart-to-heart level, the mind of Christ.

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Ever walk in to a new church or Bible study and feel instantly at ease, like you belong? My husband and I move a lot. As a result, we’ve spent a lot of time as newbies in local churches. I’d like to say that this has always been a welcoming experience, but most of the time it’s taken a few months to break in. I’m not sure if we had to “prove” we were really Christians, or maybe there was just a level of superficiality that had to be penetrated. Regardless the reason, it always struck me as odd.

The other day my brother-in-law told me about a family reunion he and his wife went to. They met throngs of people they had never seen before–family they didn’t even know they had. And yet, it wasn’t awkward. They didn’t have to pull out their birth certificates and marriage license to prove that they did indeed belong. They were instantly swept up in the latest chatter of how “Grandpa Filbert lost his leg”.

And yet, our churches remain cold and distant. So why is the secular world doing a better job of showing brother love? I think it’s because we don’t truly understand what it means to be part of the body of Christ. We’re family. And what does family do? They accept one another, quirks and all. They stand up for one another. They protect one another. (You can’t bash and protect at the same time, even if it’s under the guise of “sharing prayer requests”.) They honor one another above themselves. And you can’t do any of those seated in the pews. To love one another as God intended, you’ve got to get off your rump and reach out. (Ouch! I’ll work on that.)

We love to spout those verses that talk about love, and are quick to remind each other that others will know us by our love, but somehow we’ve added qualifications and confines. I’m loving…to my spouse, and my kids. Hey, I’ll even offer to help my neighbor out once in awhile. The one on the right. The one on the left? Now that’s a different story. They’re a little too confrontational for my taste. My brothers and sisters in the church? You mean my church, right?

We often excuse our behavior by telling ourselves that the new couple sitting at the end of the pew doesn’t want to be bothered. Or perhaps we’ll remind ourselves of our to-do list, and put off saying hi until next week, and the week after that. In the end, it all comes down to pride. And self-love. Our fear of rejection overpowers our love for other. We’ve put a spin on Paul’s admonition to love others above ourselves–we love ourselves above others. But if we were at a family reunion and our cousin from our dad’s side twice removed showed up, how long would it take for us to extend a welcome?

Romans 12:9 Love must be sincere. (Uh-oh! You mean my plastic smile won’t cut it?) Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. (Devoted? You mean offer up my parking spot, right? As long as they stay at our church. Once they switch churches I’m absolved of responsibility, right?) Honor one another above yourselves. (Unless it cuts in to my comfort level.) Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

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The title of this novel alone was intriguing enough to draw me to it, and today, 120 pages in, Lisa Lickel has not disappointed me. This novel begins in typical romance fashion–with a twist. Boy meets girl, girl likes boy, boy likes girl, girl and boy can’t be together because…ah, now here is the twist. We’re used to reading about beautiful twenty-somethings falling in love with their dashingly handsome Prince Charming, and for those of us who have left the twenty’s far behind, I wonder if we don’t read the story with some degree of nostalgia. Oh, to be young and beautiful again with smooth skin and colorful, sans gray hair.

In Meander Scar, Lisa challenges our thinking by presenting an older heroine–I believe she’s in her late forties or early fiftiees–falling for a younger man. Eleven years younger, to be exact. Ah, scandelous, I know! Even worse is the fact that Ann, the heroine, is still married. Okay, so now you’re wondering why I’m still reading, right? Why haven’t I gotten offended at this point and tossed the book aside? Well, its complicated. True, Ann is married, but she hasn’t seen or heard from her husband in over five years. In fact, by all accounts, he is dead. If only she could convince the courts of this, everything would be fine and she could marry her handsome young beau without incident…but her husband’s wealthy and extremely powerful mom gets in the way and continually sabotages the court proceedings.

What can Ann do? Stay in a dead–literally–marriage for the rest of her life, tied to a house that drains her meager finances, unable to access the money that should rightfully be hers, or…I don’t know…sever all ties and make a mad dash for Vegas? Okay, so maybe that’s a bit rash…how about a mad dash for the Mall of America? Did you know you can get married right there in the mall? It’s true. Buy your dress, get your nails and hair done, pop by their wedding “store” and you’re good to go.

Obviously I was intrigued by the “flip of the tables” this book presented. Twenty years ago we only heard of older men falling for younger women, but today, things have changed and it seems fairly common to see an older woman dating a younger man. Lisa’s novel challenges us to look past the superficial labels and quantifications to the weightier matters of the heart, and for that, I am appreciative. Of course, having been married to a man older than I for fifteen years now and having fielded all the false notions and erroneous judgments that come with that, I may be more sympathetic to Lisa’s novel than most. But regardless of your views on the dating scene, this book is definitely a page turner. For me, it took about fifty pages for me to really get hooked, but by the 100th page, I found myself staying up much later than I should have.

I think this book might be an interesting discussion starter.

Meander Scar by Lisa Lickel

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I know I said Wednesday’s would be parenting days, but unfortunately, I process things through my keyboard, which means you all are going to have to process them with me. Besides, this schedule doesn’t technically start until next week, so it’s all good. <grin> Our church is going over Francis Chan’s book, Crazy Love, and every week I leave thinking, “I’m gonna do better.” But somehow between Wednesdays I slip back into my nine to five. Oh, I’ll read a few verses in the morning and maybe offer a few prayers while I cook dinner. And if I’m feeling really “religious” I may even offer a word of encouragement to someone. So long as it doesn’t cut into my reading time. And yet, there was a time, back when I first gave my life to Christ, when His hands first plucked me out of the pit I was in and everything was so rosy and bright, nothing else mattered but God.

But then I got complacent. And my faith became predictable. I learned what an appropriate tithe was, how to schedule a quiet time and how to participate in the occasional prayer meeting… basically, how to go about my life in a respectable Christian manner. And when things get too uncomfortable, when this thing called Christianity somehow seeps out of Sunday, I run right back to my schedule. “Yes, Jesus, I’ll pray, as soon as I fold the laundry. Or can I pray while I fold? Does it count as worship if the music plays while I cook dinner? How can I multi-task You into my life…without disrupting my life?”

I wonder how different my faith would be if I had stood there watching as Jesus died. Would I still relegate Him to a nice, tidy morning quiet time? He gave His all…and I can’t even give him thirty minutes of uninterrupted time? And why? So my floors can be cleaner, or I can catch up on the latest sitcom or loose myself in a novel? Tonight I’m asking a different question: What would…no, strike that…what will my life look like when I release the reigns completely? When every day, instead of running to my to-do list I run to God instead?

I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know. It won’t be easy. In fact, just thinking about it is kind of scary, especially with the huge workload I have coming up this fall. But I guess that’s why it comes down to trust. Do I really believe that God has a plan…for me? And that He’s working out His plan?

Anyone want to join me? Let’s hold each other accountable, and share stories as God leads us on the adventures of our lives. I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I can guarantee one thing–we won’t regret it!