memoir

February 14, 2017

Birthday Party for a Book

My memoir, I Was Blind (Dating), but Now I See, is having its first birthday, and I want to give YOU presents to mark the occasion! See the end of this blog for the free giveaways.

This book is my story, but I hope you will find that it’s your story too. On one level, it’s an account of my misadventures in dating and some of my more embarrassing moments, but on another level, it’s the story of a human being who is longing for something and praying for something when it seems like God is being silent. How do you keep hoping and praying when year after year it seems like God is saying no?

Here’s an excerpt from the book about prayer and a pair of Keds.

***

In many ways my dad was old school when it came to raising us kids. He had high standards, and we were expected to work hard and pull our weight. He could be firm with us, giving us what he called “sensitivity training”—as in making us less sensitive. Most nights at dinner he’d try to toughen us up through spirited banter and debate, playing the role of devil’s advocate so we’d be ready for the real world.

But I knew without a doubt that he loved me. My mind wandered back to a scene with the twelve-year-old me. My family was on a cross-country trip to visit my grandparents, and I was decked out in my favorite outfit: Wardrobe and accessory coordination was not something to be taken lightly in the early ’90s. I was sporting a black-and-white polka-dot shirt, black stirrup pants, polka-dot earrings, and a hair bow to match. Then there was the pièce de résistance of the outfit: my brand-new knockoff Keds in—you guessed it—black and white. I was sure of it: Those kids in Washington State had never seen anyone as cool as me.

But before we arrived at my grandparents’ house, Dad spotted a sign for a state park just off the highway. It would do us good to get out of the car and stretch our legs for a bit, he declared, brushing off our protests that it was raining.

“Oh, you guys are babies. That’s not rain—it’s just mist.”

And so we set out on a hiking trail, despite the ever-thickening “mist.”

I flipped up the hood of my coat, hoping to salvage what was left of my mile-high, amply hair-sprayed bangs, and trudged on. But then we hit the bridge. At least I thought it was a bridge. It was hard to tell because at the moment it looked like one giant mudslide.

There was no way I was going to let my beautiful new shoes touch slop of that caliber.

“Can we head back?” I pleaded. “Or at least go another way?”

But one by one, my family members crossed the bridge ahead of me. I stood rooted to the spot, sure they’d turn back once they saw I was serious. I will not budge, I steamed silently, arms akimbo. But they didn’t throw so much as a backward glance in my direction.

I had melodramatic visions of being found several days later by a forest ranger, having survived on grubs and rainwater, black-and-white shoes still more or less intact. But despite my efforts to be brave in the face of abandonment, I felt my eyes starting to sting, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the rain. I didn’t want to be separated from my family, but there was no way I could change my mind now. I’d made my stand.

Then, through a curtain of tears and rain, I saw my dad heading back over the bridge. Wait . . . why is he coming this way? I wondered. Would I get a lecture? Would he tell me he was disappointed I was being a wimp?

But as he got closer, I saw the twinkle in his eye. “Hop on my back,” he said, crouching down. I couldn’t believe it. I was way too old to be getting piggyback rides. But the rest of my family was on the other side, waiting, and I knew this was the only way. So my dad carried me across that muddy bridge, knockoff Keds and all.

I supposed if I was looking for a model of how a father responds to persistent prayer, this moment when my dad came to the rescue of a daughter whose outfit was in jeopardy was as good a model as any.

I read that familiar passage from Matthew 7:

You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.

It struck me that nowhere did it say the father was compelled to give his child precisely what she asked for, that the child could special order what she wanted from a gift catalog. It just said a good father would give good gifts to his children. What if the gift God wanted to give me was different from the one I’d been asking for? What if the thing I thought was good was merely a snake dressed up as Mr. Right?

A good dad will fulfill his daughter’s request—but only if it’s the right gift, at the right time. Sometimes he may give the gracious gift of saying no. But always—always—he cares about his child’s request.

In his classic book on prayer, C. S. Lewis puts it this way: “Someone said, ‘A suitor wants his suit to be heard as well as granted.’ . . . We can bear to be refused but not to be ignored. . . . The apparent stone will be bread to us if we believe that a Father’s hand put it into ours.”2

Perhaps God wasn’t a stern father after all, with a snake in one hand and a stone in the other. Maybe he was more like a good dad—with a twinkle in his eye and his child on his back.

Gift #1: 20 Days of Prayers

Have you ever felt stuck in your prayer life . . . like your prayers keep bouncing off the ceiling or you’ve just run out of words somewhere along the way? I’ve collected some of my favorite prayers over the years—for times when you’re lonely, for times when the future seems uncertain, for times when God seems far away. You can download this free pdf (beautifully designed by my friend Sarah) on the right side of this website.

Gift #2: Blind date with a book

After all the flopped blind dates I’ve been on, I’m still pro blind date (be sure to read the epilogue!). So in honor of blind dates, I’m hosting a “Blind date with a book” raffle this month. Share this post (or any post about my book) in the month of February, and I’ll enter you for the chance to win a free book. I’ll match you up based on a series of reading-preference questions.

Gift #3: Tyndale offer

Tyndale.com is offering 25% off I Was Blind (Dating) but Now I See for the month of February. If you buy a copy for you or a friend, I’d be happy to sign a nameplate and mail it to you.

***

Whether you find yourself with a date or not this Valentine’s Day, please know that you are loved—without limit and without condition.

I have loved you . . . with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.
Jeremiah 31:3

January 13, 2017

Piecing Together a Book

The quilt has words hidden in it, word search style!

One of the most common questions I get when people hear I wrote a book is “How did you go about the daunting task of writing a whole book?” (Other common questions include “Since you’re an editor, did you have to get edited?” and “What tools does every writer need?” Answer: backup files, Pilot fine-tip pens, and large quantities of prayer and chocolate.)

It’s hard for me to answer the question about what it’s like to write a book, because the process was so much messier and less linear than I ever imagined. I’ve been around books all my life, first as a reader and for the past fourteen years as an editor. In that time, I’ve had a pretty straightforward process for tackling books: more or less starting at the beginning and making my way to the end (I have a strict no-spoilers policy).

So I was surprised when I started writing and discovered that my book couldn’t be wrangled into such a neat step-by-step process. It was stymying at first—I couldn’t quite nail down where I needed to go or what came next.

Here’s the best way I’ve found to describe what the writing felt like: at the beginning I was trying to follow a sewing pattern. I wanted rules and formulas; I wanted structure and organization and measurements. But it didn’t work. I had to throw away the pattern. And when I did, I realized that I was actually making a quilt.

And so I wrote stories, one after the other, like quilt squares, not worrying at the moment about where they would go or how they would fit into the whole. Then I literally spread these stories out on the floor of our spare bedroom. That enabled me to see where the overall direction of the book was headed. It also showed which stories didn’t fit with the colors and pattern of my quilt-book. And it helped me see which story squares worked well beside each other. Only then could I stitch it all together.

For someone who likes to know I’m doing things “right,” this approach felt a little like a literary freefall: terrifying at first, but ultimately exhilarating. And it struck me that it’s a little like life, really. So often I try to make a script for my life and follow a step-by-step pattern. But even if I could find such a set of instructions, it wouldn’t work—life just isn’t that predictable and easily pinned down.

God invites us to follow him into a life of mystery and wonder . . . into a terrifying but exhilarating freefall. We don’t know exactly how our life will turn out or where exactly he is calling us; he simply invites us to tackle one quilt square at a time. It’s not until later that we can see what he was creating in us and through us.

Now I should confess at this point that these sewing metaphors are purely hypothetical for me. My maternal grandmother is a master seamstress. She sewed all three of her daughter’s wedding dresses and the accompanying bridesmaid dresses, and she made afghans for each of her grandchildren when we graduated from high school. But much to her consternation, her eldest granddaughter has dropped the sartorial baton. My sewing skills are limited to reattaching errant buttons, and even at that, the backside would make a sparrow’s nest look tidy.

Recently I received a gift that feels like the visual equivalent of what it felt like to write a book. My friend Lory, a quilter and a writer herself, made me a beautiful writing-themed quilt. It’s been put together piece by piece, stitch by stitch, and I can feel the love threaded into every part.

There’s something gratifying about putting love and planning and work into something, whether it’s a quilt or a book or a song or a meal, and then being able to see it or taste it or hold it in your hands. And then to be able to share it with someone else? Well, that’s almost like a piece of glory in your own living room.

When God made us, I have to believe he experienced that same kind of delight in his creations. He stitched together our DNA, planned out hair color and personality traits, and planted dreams and desires in us. And he no doubt revels in what he’d made. His creations are no assembly-line productions; there are no two the same. You are a one-of-a-kind creation, and he is utterly delighted by you.

We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesians 2:10

***

What masterpiece are you working on as we begin a new year? What would it look like to throw away the pattern and embrace the messy work of creating?

September 2, 2014

Announcing the Next Book Club

Thanks to everyone who participated in our discussion about The Invention of Wings, which we talked about here. Congratulations to Maggie, the winner of the free book giveaway!

Please join us for our next book club discussion on Glitter and Glue by Kelly Corrigan. Here’s the description of the book taken from Barnes and Noble

From the author of The Middle Place comes a new memoir that examines the bond—sometimes nourishing, sometimes exasperating, occasionally divine—between mothers and daughters.

When Kelly Corrigan was in high school, her mother neatly summarized the family dynamic as “Your father’s the glitter but I’m the glue.” This meant nothing to Kelly, who left childhood sure that her mom—with her inviolable commandments and proud stoicism—would be nothing more than background chatter for the rest of Kelly’s life, which she was carefully orienting toward adventure. After college, armed with a backpack, her personal mission statement, and a wad of traveler’s checks, she took off for Australia to see things and do things and Become Interesting.

But it didn’t turn out the way she pictured it. In a matter of months, her savings shot, she had a choice: get a job or go home. That’s how Kelly met John Tanner, a newly widowed father of two looking for a live-in nanny. They chatted for an hour, discussed timing and pay, and a week later, Kelly moved in. And there, in that house in a suburb north of Sydney, 10,000 miles from the house where she was raised, her mother’s voice was suddenly everywhere, nudging and advising, cautioning and directing, escorting her through a terrain as foreign as any she had ever trekked. Every day she spent with the Tanner kids was a day spent reconsidering her relationship with her mother, turning it over in her hands like a shell, straining to hear whatever messages might be trapped in its spiral.

This is a book about the difference between travel and life experience, stepping out and stepping up, fathers and mothers. But mostly it’s about who you admire and why, and how that changes over time.

We’ll be discussing this book at the end of October. Hope you will join us! (And remember—there will be a free book giveaway for one lucky winner!)

March 7, 2014

Looking for God in the Cracks

My cousin from California recently spent a month with us in the Windy City. It was her first extended stay here, and I hoped she’d fall in love with this place I call home. But Chicago, you sure didn’t make it easy. The evening she arrived, we got almost a foot of snow. The next day we experienced record-breaking low temps, dipping to 25 below zero with wind chill. Although this charming weather pattern may be something of a novelty at first, it doesn’t make any friends when it sticks around for any extended length of time.So as soon as the thermometer registered in the double digits, we decided to take Jen into the city and show her the sights. One of our stops was Navy Pier, a 100-year-old pier that juts 3,000 feet out from the shoreline into Lake Michigan.

When we looked out onto the lake, I was reminded just how vast this body of water is. When you’re standing on the pier, all you can is water on three sides, extending far beyond what the eye can see. I try to imagine how far away Door County is, try to picture the opposite shoreline somewhere in Indiana. But each time, I fail. The magnitude of 1,000 cubic miles of water is beyond what my mind can take in.

Not only that, but it’s also hard to appreciate the beauty of something so vast. It was only when I saw that great lake contrasted against something smaller that I could appreciate its grandeur and beauty. Like when waves crashed against the shoreline. Or when the ice floes bobbed in the current. Or when a gull ducked under the icy surface to procure its lunch. Or when I saw the lighthouse sitting tall and proud on the rocky crag.

I just finished reading Lewis Smedes’s spiritual memoir, My God and I, which he finished writing shortly before his death. This book is a lovely blend of accessible theology and personal stories, at once homespun and profound, and it’s filled with little gems about everything from doubt to hope to old age. But what captivated me from the first page was a letter written to Lewis by his friend Rod Jellema about the presence of God. In part, it goes like this:

Don’t tell me how God’s mercy
is as wide as the ocean, as deep as the sea.
I already believe it, but that infinite prospect
gets further away the more we mouth it. . . .

The thin and tenuous
thread we hang by, so astonishing,
is the metaphor I need at the shoreline
of all those immeasurable oceans of love.

I can relate to this idea of looking for God in the cracks and crevices of life. My mind tends to go into overload when I try to wrap my brain around the depth and infinite nature of God. But to see God in the tenuous thread I’m hanging on to? Now that I may be able to do.

***

What about you?

Are there times when God seems too vast to take in?

Are there moments when his love is hard to wrap your brain and heart around?

If so, I invite you to join me on the shoreline, clinging to him amid the cracks and crevices.

June 28, 2013

June Book Discussion: Carry On, Warrior

Thanks to everyone who participated in our virtual book club (which I introduced here). June’s selection was Carry on, Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton.

Here’s how it works: I’ll throw out some discussion topics, and you can post your comments below—about these topics or other things you want to talk about.

Discussion #1: Authenticity
I really appreciated the author’s authentic voice—sharing the hard, real parts of life that we try to pretty up or hide from other people. Glennon’s honesty is a refreshing reminder that there is freedom in recognizing and admitting our brokenness. It’s obvious that she loves her children and finds joy in the sacred ground of motherhood, but she doesn’t pretend to have a Pinterest-perfect life. Plus, her honesty can be downright hilarious (case in point: when her daughter announced at the dentist’s office: “Mom, you smell like a bar!”).

Glennon’s insights in “Don’t Carpe Diem” are gold—especially for moms with young kids:

This CARPE DIEM message makes me paranoid and panicky. Especially during this phase of my life when I’m raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways, to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I’m not in a constant state of profound gratitude and ecstasy, I’m doing something wrong.

I appreciate the insight she comes to about kairos time vs. chronos time—being able to savor each season without having to pretend that each moment of it is bliss.

Do you think Glennon overshared, or were you inspired by her vulnerability? Can you relate to her feelings about the pressure to “Carpe Diem”?

Discussion #2: Book vs. Blog
The jacket of the book admits up front that some of the content is taken from the author’s blog, momastery.com. But I was surprised to find how much it felt like a loosely compiled string of blogs. I often found myself disoriented in time when the order skipped around, and I kept searching for an overarching narrative arc. I would consider myself a casual reader of Glennon’s blog, and I was surprised how much content overlapped what I’ve already read from her.

Do you have different expectations for books versus blogs? Did you think the book held together with this structure?

Discussion #3: Truth-Telling
Glennon calls herself a “truth-teller,” and I think she achieves that goal. The upside of that is we get front-row seats to the work of redemption God has done and continues to do in her life. But as I read, it struck me that it’s one thing to decide to bare the skeletons in your own closet, but how much liberty does one have to raid the closets of her husband and kids? As much as I enjoyed these personal glimpses, I wondered what her children will think as they get older and the world knows about their business. (And what on earth did her husband think of her sharing that e-mail she sent him at work?!)

When it comes to sharing—whether in a blog, on social media, or in a book—how much do you think is okay to share about your kids/family/friends? Do you have any standards in place for yourself?

Rating: ★ ★ ★
I would give this book 3 stars for the enjoyable content but lazy structure.

How many stars would you give this book?

Once again, there will be a FREE BOOK GIVEAWAY for one lucky commenter!