On Becoming a Writer

Just to be clear, let me see if I’m describing you right: You love to read, you always have. You think words are powerful and beautiful and devastating when used correctly. You have a story, ideas, a lot to say. These things rattle around in your brain and if you don’t get them on paper, YOU JUST MIGHT DIE. You’ve always been a good communicator; you prayed for an essay test over those devil-sanctioned multiple-choice scantrons. You stare at your laptop like a frenemy. If you could just sit down with it for an extended time and write your words, or maybe if you could just set it on fire and be free of it, or both, you would finally be happy. And, of course, there is teeny tiny, oh so tiny part of you, so tiny you have to whisper it, tiny tiny little bit that says I want to be published because that will make me real.
What do I know of writing? I still feel like a hack that snuck in the side door at just the right moment and no one kicked me out of the party. I really do. You might think after writing 10 books I would feel like an “expert,” but you would be so very wrong, good reader. I’m still stumbling through, wondering when I’ll be a grown up who masters her field.

I can give you no expert advice. Absolutely none. But I can tell you what I’ve learned and I can certainly tell you what didn’t work. Let’s start with this:

Don’t disqualify yourself from writing before you even get started. A writer is a person who writes words. The end. Do you know who asked me to write my first book? Zero people. No one said, you should do this hard thing or we really want to hear from you in print form. Writer: 1, People Who Asked Me to Write: 0. I wrote for two reasons:

I wanted to and had something to say.

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I can’t help you process the cover design. It was a different time. Go with God.
Granted, that is not much to build a career on, but who knew I would make a career out of writing?? I didn’t start with even an inkling of that grand notion. Hell, I was raising babies and toddlers and didn’t even own a laptop. I didn’t even have an email address and it was 2004 (I am frequently late to current developments). I was not set up to be a career writer, but that is not why you start writing. It can’t be.

If you want to and have something to say, write. This first step is a doozy. If you are waiting for someone to beg you to do the work or promise to give you a huge advance or rearrange your schedule to clear the time or somehow make this whole part easier, you might as well take your little dream for a nice long drive out into the country and say goodbye. Writers write. It is one of our main characteristics, as a point of fact. Writers don’t wait for someone else to tell them they should or can. You should and you can.

Next, I am devastated to bring this bad news, but writing requires work. Kind of hard, brutal, sanity-threatening work. All the writing dreams in your head have to transition to your ten fingers on a keyboard, and I’m afraid there is no other way. (I’m sorry. Take your time.) Work requires time, which of course, you have none of. This is the writer’s dilemma. You will not miraculously become a writer by carrying on exactly like you are. It’s a whole thing and you have to make room for it.

Maybe that is in the earliest wee hours, which is when legions of writers make the magic happen. Maybe you engineer a child swap or childcare to create time. Maybe you let something go and free up a slot. Know this: something will have to give. And I mean that sincerely. Writing will take time away from other things: sometimes kids, sometimes spouse, sometimes a thing you used to do, sometimes sleep. Work does this. You don’t get to keep everything as is and also add writing. That is not how the time/space continuum works. I have to regularly tell my kids:

Me:  I’ll be in my office working.
Kids:  What do you even do out there? (If you think 10 books will up your credibility at home, think again, grasshopper.)
Me:  I’m writing. It is my work and it is a real job.
Kids:  *side eye*
Me:  IT IS.

Of course my kids wish I would devote every spare second to maintain their place in the center of the universe, but writers write and writing is work and work takes time. And it is good work. It means something. It is noble and important. It always has been.

I remember crying a river when my mom went back to college when we were in elementary, middle, and high school because she was less available to cater to our every whim, but it very soon became a source of great pride for me, because I watched my mom do meaningful, hard work that mattered. She went for it, right in the middle of living life. As it turned out, I needed a mom who mothered, dreamed, worked, and achieved. We all did.

Now, put your writing out there somewhere where actual people will read it: a blog, a newsletter you made up, guest posts, your community, your church, any local outlet, anywhere there are readers. Don’t tell me you can’t handle this; you want to be a writer that no one ever reads?? Nonsense. Readers make you a better writer. Writing for readers makes you a better writer. This is not just about “developing a platform” (gag) but getting out of your own head and engaging with other human beings. Additionally, good writing gets noticed, especially in today’s online space, so be a “writer with readers” – strong talent does not go undetected for long.

Develop a thicker skin immediately. (May I gently suggest that if your skin is paper thin, writing might be the worst profession on earth for you.) As shocking as it is, not everyone will love everything you say, and you need to be able to deal with criticism without coming unraveled. Ask any writer. Furthermore, if every reader always loves every word you ever write, I mean this nicely, but you are not writing anything that interesting. Write the real stuff, the hard stuff, the true stuff. Literature is too saturated for cotton candy fluff. Most readers are craving truth-tellers who don’t sanitize their words to avoid criticism. Be brave.

Finally, everyone wants to be published but few want to work on the craft of writing. While the internet has provided unprecedented opportunity for the new writer, it has also elevated sensationalized link-bait over truly good composition. We know this because we read utter crap constantly and then discover one astounding piece written with precision and talent and intelligence, and we go WHOA. Take a class, take a course, go to a writer’s conference (this is both how I developed and got initially published), join a writer’s group, read books as a reader (writers read), read books as a writer (writers learn), hire an editor who doesn’t feel as precious about all your words as you do, invite constructive criticism, pay attention to what good writing does: How does it use language? How does it construct sentences? How does it move the story along? How does it sound? How does it feel?

Doctors do the work to be good doctors. Teachers do the work to become better teachers. Writers cannot imagine that because they have the dexterity to type words on a keyboard their craft does not need development. Worry less about getting published and more about being good at what you do. Much like the Lord, the eyes of publishers roam about the earth searching for undiscovered writers who can actually compose a compelling sentence (2 Chron. 16:9…extremely compromised).

Some postscripts:

Do not become immobilized by good writing already out there. Stop that this instant. Literature is not an exercise in scarcity. The world always needs good writing. There is room for you. Don’t be intimidated by successful writers; be inspired by them. Every good writer wrote his or her first piece at one point. Do your time; there is space for you at the party.

Just because one person says your writing is crap doesn’t mean it is. Or maybe it is, but that is not the end of your story. You cannot bail with your first rejection, first critique, first outright troll. You’ll be done by the end of the week. Writing is a synonym for perseverance. Keep going, learn from criticism, reject the haters, onward. The Harry Potter series was rejected 12 times before it got picked up, and IT IS DOING OKAY NOW.

Getting published will not make you miraculously happy, rich (oh my gosh), or validated. I’m laughing as I type that because I know you are thinking: YES IT WILL. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY. It won’t. You’ll still be in your weird mind wondering why your life is mostly the same. You won’t arrive, but it is still worth the work. It is worth every second.

Cheering for you. Write on, writer.
 Write your words.

Don’t ever confuse the two, your life and your work. That’s what I have to say.
The second is only a part of the first. . . .
There are thousands of people out there with the same degree you have; when you get a job, there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living.
But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life.
Your particular life. Your entire life.
Not just your life at a desk, or your life on the bus, or in the car, or at the computer.
Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart.
—Anna Quindlen

Writer’s Conferences

Do your own research here. The type of conference you attend depends on the type of writing you do and your audience: Children? Fiction? Christian? General market? Memoir? Nonfiction? Buy a Market Guide in your genre, which will include conferences, publishers, and agents for this calendar year. I only have my story, but a writer’s conference was my front door into publishing. Additionally, while there, I learned skills during my “writing nonfiction tract” that I use to this day from Dr. Dennis Hensley, writing professor at Taylor University. Easily one of the best teachers I’ve ever sat under. I could have listened to him for 12 hours a day. I practically clung to his ankles as I was leaving as a 29-year-old dreamer.

Books on Writing

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
On Writing by Stephan King
Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron
The Writing Life by Annie Dillard
The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

What can you add, writers? Great websites? Tips? Are you one of those wringing her hands and waiting for someone to give you permission to go for it? PERMISSION GRANTED.

The Thing About Being More Awesome…

It’s that lovely time of year when short-lived best intentions quickly give way to self-loathing.

Happy New Year, y’all!

Like my favey-fave-favorite Anne Lamott’s therapist asked her after disclosing her New Year’s Diet Plan: “Oh, that’s nice, honey. How much weight were you planning on gaining?” Delightful. $150 for that acute observation.

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Me on New Year’s Day. Apparently my plan is to EAT ALL THE FOOD.
And also, CARB LOAD.
It’s not all bad, this New Year’s Resolution (NYR) business. There is not one thing wrong with improvement or kicking a bad habit or finally tackling some elusive challenge or throwing away all the mismatched socks in the house once and for all (CAN I GET AN AMEN??).

But maybe your NYR takes on a more ominous tone like mine, and it sounds less like let’s take first steps toward that dream or I want to start painting this year and more like BE ENTIRELY MORE AWESOME, DAMMIT! (this is the voice in my head and it is very, very bossy and mean and also it likes to curse at me). I am already a first-born achiever; I don’t need this crap. It has already taken me all of my 40 years to believe that God loves me all the time and I am not one wonky decision away from His bad side.

My identity has always been linked in a very unhealthy way to accomplishment (and its horrid cousin, Approval). I know this about myself and it is at least partly why I constantly (over) share my foibles and failures publicly; admission keeps me in sane territory where perfection is dismantled for ordinary humanity. These confessions are more for me than you, because they consistently remind me that this life is actually really challenging and sometimes I am good at it and sometimes SO NOT and I can say all that out loud and no one will die and God will still love me.

But New Year’s feeds into my dark side, and I feel the pressure toward AWESOMENESS. Maybe this year I will live up to the hype. Maybe this year I will be THE MOST AWESOME author and THE MOST AWESOME mom and the MOST AWESOME WIFE AND PASTOR-TYPE AND FRIEND AND SCHOOL VOLUNTEER AND CULTURAL ANALYST AND RACIAL RECONCILER AND TV GIRL AND BOOK PROMOTER AND BLOGGER AND PERSON OF INTEREST AND INSTAGRAMER!

I will be awesome at all of these things and it will be stunning and I will finally rid myself of this icky guilt I carry around all the live long day for being not awesome enough in the area of ______ (all things fit this blank at one point or another). It’s a simple formula really: just be very, very good at everything. Is that so hard?

The problem is that when I get quiet, when I listen to God’s very still small voice in my heart, when I pay attention to what makes me feel alive and joyful and in my place (as opposed to displaced), it almost never revolves around being awesome.

It looks more like being present.

And being peaceful.

And being less grabby and afraid everything is about to run out.

And being generous.

And being at home with my people.

And being with my friends.

And being in my kitchen.

And being ordinary.

No one would see me in these places and say she is really being awesome at chopping that onion. Or she and her friends are really being awesome at sitting on that porch in their pajama pants. Or she is a really awesome nap-takerMy happiest, best moments are beautiful and meaningful and life-giving but none of them require a high level of achievement.

And the weird thing is that when I spend a ton of time being more awesome at All The Things, it doesn’t even deliver. Because there is always another level of success, another phase of accomplishment to reach for, another person still “ahead” of me, another critic to burn down what I just did, another chance to disappoint, another mountain to climb. The finish line to this particular rat race is THE GRAVE. Please trust me that I am telling you the Gods-honest truth.

Meanwhile, there are these other things, these people and quiet places and loved ones and laughter, and at best, the level I need to maintain for them is mediocre-to-average, yet they bring great happiness. There are these other things, and they won’t end up on a resume, but they put me at great peace. There are these other things, and none of them will impress in the slightest, but they bring me home to myself and my people and Jesus.

So here are my goals for 2015, which I shared with my Facebook friends last week:

Things I Am Going to Try Harder on in 2015:

  • Keeping my room clean (hi, I’m a grown up)
  • Keeping my inbox from the grip of entropy (the stress this causes is infinity)
  • Neighboring well
  • More time with My People

Things I Am Not Going to Try Harder on in 2015:

  • Answering my phone/texts (MY PHONE IS NOT MY BOSS AT ALL TIMES)
  • My kids’ homework: 1.) I’ve already been in 9th grade, and 2.) my 9th grader should not have the homework load of a grad student
  • Counting calories/fat/carbs (JUST NO)
  • Trying to make Not My People happy

That’s it, gentle readers. These are the other things. These keep my insides calm. These keep me from striving like it is my job. These keep me from the Black Soul Hole of chaos and disorganization, which ruins my game so terribly. These help me love my people better and stop twisting into knots trying to make some folks happy who will NEVER EVER BE HAPPY WITH ME. (Free tip: someone will always not like you, your ideas, your position, your theology, your opinions, your feelings, your style, your friends, your processes, your parenting, and your lipstick color. You will never, ever please every person. Open your hands, unclench, release, be free. Life is too short to live small and afraid and disgenuine and guarded. Just go ahead and live your one wild and beautiful and spectacular life with all the you-ness you can muster.)

For those of you who don’t get sucked into the terror of Being More Awesome, God bless and please keep reminding us panicky, paranoid highfliers that ALL WILL BE WELL AND JUST RELAX AND BREATHE. For those of you who totally get what I’m laying down, let’s just do it. Let’s just say amongst ourselves that we will silence the bossy, mean voice telling us to BE MORE AWESOME and instead we will obey the other nudges, the ones that lead us to love and life and peace and generosity and God and people and rest and gratitude.

We can make that little space right here. We can help unclench each other’s grabby little hands and celebrate ordinary moments in simple places because they certainly count. If something makes you feel more whole, more centered, more present, then it certainly counts. If it helps keep your insides calm, then it certainly counts. If it helps you love your people better, then it certainly counts. If it frees up some inner room so you can pray and figure out that you are loved by God no matter what you do or don’t do or achieve or don’t achieve, then it certainly counts.

So go ahead and lay down any outrageous NYR you will abandon by January 26th. We don’t need to manufacture failure, for the love; real life will see to that quota. Instead, let’s go small, quiet, still, let’s listen to God and see where He tells us to go and say YES, even if that place turns out to be our own kitchen, our own porch, our own people; sometimes the best journeys are short ones. Maybe this year starts not with more but less. Your heart will eventually tell you if you heard right. Moving toward wholeness creates peace, contentment, and gratitude…not stress, fear, and displacement. You’ll know which is which pretty quick.

As for me, call me an overachiever, but I’m going for a made bed and my phone on silent and cooking with butter for people I love and live by this year. I plan to find God in all of that, because that is how He promised us this life works.

Join me?

What are you working on this year? What are you NOT working on?

Things That Don’t Exist in Ethiopia

No passing zones

This is not a thing here. Every zone is a passing zone. Those double yellow lines? Pure wishful thinking of the ET Transportation Department. Enormous bus coming right at you in the opposite lane? Still a passing zone. The middle of the road, the shoulder, the median, the sidewalk…all passing zones. It is irrelevant how many cars are next to you, in front of you, or coming at you. These are not details that matter. Simply beep your horn and barrel around someone. Everyone else will move. Except the donkeys. The donkeys will not be moved. The donkeys clearly have a death wish.

 

Coffee abstainers

This is a non-existent population. I have several friends “off coffee” and they might actually die here. Die from Ethiopian shaming. Aschalew stopped us 20 times a day and hollered, “I cannot think! We need double macchiatos!” Every time you sit still, someone brings you coffee. Jillian is a non-coffee drinker and she has put down her weight in java this week. Bless. Consequently, when we were trapped in the van for five hours one day, Kristen screamed: “I feel like Helen Hunt in that after-school special ‘Angel Dust’ when she took PCP and jumped out of a second-story window screaming! I AM FREAKING OUT!” We were too hopped up on caffeine for five hours in a vehicle, people. We were like a van full of addicts with the shakes.

 

The acting on this is so sucktastic, I beg you to watch all 3 minutes.
And When HH goes flying out the window like a lunatic, I could not quit laughing
because that is EXACTLY how we felt in that freaking van.

Electricity that isn’t insane

It is feast or famine here. Either the entire city has rolling blackouts and we sit in darkness for however long, or the electricity surge is so strong, it is guaranteed to destroy our appliances. Korie turned her hair dryer on for two seconds on the first day and it blew up: Kaput. (This is Aschalew’s word and we use it with abandon. Everything is kaput. This rain is kaput. This driver is kaput. This weird lamb/beef/goat is kaput.) Korie borrowed my hair dryer another day and brought it back with a very sorry look on her face and said, “Bad news. Yours is kaput now too.” We had a lot of air-dried hair and buns on this trip. Ethiopian electricity, you are drunk.

Helicopter moms with a Pinterest Account

I looked hard, but I didn’t see one single ET mama cut her little’s sandwich into dolphin shapes swimming in kale for his bento box. I saw no Cowboy-themed birthday parties with actual saddles owned by John Wayne as party favors. Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t believe there is an ounce of chalkboard paint in the entire country. A Facebook commenter once threatened to call CPS on me because I kicked my misbehaving boys out of the car and made them walk four blocks home in their own neighborhood. I can tell you confidently that is not a thing here. I believe my ET neighbor would probably spank my sons for misbehaving and make them drive some goats as penance. They would be kaput.

Standard times

You might think an hour is an hour, but you would be wrong. An hour here is more like 2-5 hours. If something is “20 minutes away,” you will get there tomorrow. When the IT guy at the café says he is coming back “in a minute” to fix your internet connection (another mythical unicorn over here) so you can send a blog to your precious American readers, you will see him never again. Memorize the back of this head. Good-bye. Aschalew would say, “Is no problem! We will be there in three hours…Aschalew time!” When we all gave him the side eye, he would just laugh and say he is the boss over here and we just needed to deal and quit whining about our elusive internet connection like a bunch of crybabies. (This is not our fault. Our mothers made us sandwich dolphins.) He promised to comply with American punctuality and OCD when he comes over next month. I cannot wait to mess with him.

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Social safety nets

Life is hard everywhere. Divorce, illness, family disruption, abandonment, death…these happen in every community. But in Ethiopia, there are no systems to catch the folks who fall through these cracks. There is no welfare, state food programs, public school system, standard healthcare, subsidized housing, foster care. When these people fall through the cracks, they fall tragically. Though our systems are certainly imperfect, they exist.

This is what double-sponsorship through Help One Now provides: the safety net. By identifying the most vulnerable kids in Gunchire (mostly HIV+ widows with multiple children and no outside or inside support or income), the basic needs fall into place with the first sponsorship: school fees, uniforms, books, daily nutrition, medical care for the entire family – and the second sponsorship moves into economic empowerment: land development, microloans, capitalizing on existing skills and assets, farming and agriculture, and the medical and social tools to overcome an HIV+ diagnosis.

SAFETY NETS.

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Not only did you help us hit our goal of 300 sponsorships (the top 150 most vulnerable kids in Gunchire and their families, double-sponsored), but we added the next 12 on the list and they are all double-sponsored as well! (We hit the original goal heading home yesterday in the Addis airport after Mike and Brandon kept refreshing the Help One Now page every two minutes. We laughed and screamed and hugged and cried like crazy people.)AND we have moved willing sponsors still queuing up into the next critical group of sponsorships in Uganda – same exact mission and model with a high capacity in-country leader, Edward Magumba. You can find these kids on the same website and your sponsorship of them will provide the same safety net.

IT IS ALL SUCH GOOD WORK.

Thank you, dear moms and dads and kids around the world. What a joy. What a delight. What a story. What a privilege. So grateful to do this with you. This is the stuff. This is the good stuff. THANK YOU. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You cannot imagine how much your sponsorship is going to change this community.

And now I plan to go home, hug my babies, and sleep for a hundred years.

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Before/After Pics of My New Office…And My Muse

I have never had an office. I had a desk for awhile, but my children used it as an art table. I’ve written all of my books in very glamorous places like the corner of the couch, my unmade bed, the kitchen table, and my bathroom floor.

When we moved to the farmhouse, there was this extremely nasty outbuilding off the patio. We used it for a kitchen and Holding Cell For Garbage And Vermin during the renovation (I’m playing fast and loose with the term “kitchen” here). But now that we have a real kitchen inside, I started eyeballing this crappy little room for an office. Apologies to the ants and mice. It looked something like this:

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I don’t know what’s going on with Remy’s hair. Be kind. It’s summer.
So we hired a guy to make it inhabitable (this involved tearing the rotted floorboards down to the dirt…good times), and I turned my attention toward the fun part: DECORATING. And just in the nick of time, like a gift, Myquillyn Smith‘s book landed in my hands – “The Nesting Place: It Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect to Be Beautiful.” Well good thing, because this little room is a lemon.
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Myquillyn’s approach to design is what we’ve all been waiting for. I’m serious. She moved 13 times in 18 years of marriage, 10 of them rent homes including the one she lives in now, at the writing of her book. So go ahead and strike the idea that she makes a home beautiful because she crafted every last architectural detail to her liking. Myquillyn wrote:“Now on my thirteenth home, I’ve realized that home is wherever we are. I’m not going to waste time waiting for the next house we buy to create a beautiful place to live. I can’t afford to wait until we have our life all perfectly organized and presentable to start enjoying it.”

Her style combines thrift and quirk and opposing textures and inexpensive ideas that pack a lot of punch. And The Nesting Place gives you such permission to just try something, for heaven’s sake. Just put it up, just paint it, just layer those two rugs, just use that weird signature piece. She somehow takes the fear and hesitation out of it all and makes you want to throw forty unrelated pieces on your feature wall and hang hats on a set of antlers. Why not? We’re not curing cancer; we’re just making pretty rooms that we love.

So I set to work with her book in hand. And I mean that literally; I actually took her book into the stores and thrift shops. I felt like I needed pictorial guidance. So once the office started taking shape, looking less like a hovel and more like a room, it was time to steal copy take inspiration from Myquillyn’s house. From The Nesting Place: This is the feature wall in her living room. Pay attention, because I lifted exact ideas right off this page.

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I LOVE the idea of repurposing junky pieces, making your own stuff, using something unexpected, mixing different styles and textures. It’s like Myquillyn crawled into my head and made sense of everything that makes me love a room. Please note the image of Napolean Dynamite on the opposing page on the TV. I can’t even. Here is how her tutorials played out in my office:
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I measured the wall, professionally marked it off on the floor with flip flops, books, and trash, and laid the feature wall out before I hung it. I would like you to please note the level and tools, and by “you” I mean “Brandon” because I did this while he was out of town and I’ve been known to “eyeball” things like this, which occasionally results in no less than but possibly more than 32 extra holes in the wall. I USED THE TOOLS, BRANDON. Which means I only ended up 15 extra holes. Thank you for acting impressed.
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I have a couch in my office because sometimes writers need naps. OUR LIVES ARE HARD.
One of my favorite ideas from The Nesting Place was using something random in a functional way. Why can’t antlers be a hat rack? Why can’t a ceramic head be a planter? Why can’t plastic spoons become a wreath? I particularly loved repurposing sawed off tree stumps as end tables:
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We are crawling with tree stumps on our property, so this was the easiest, free-ist piece in my office. Because Myquillyn said I could mix and match elements at will, I did. I combined old wood, ceramic, and a rusted metal egg basket, because it is a free country. I also shamelessly copied her book wreath. And I do mean copied. As in I emailed her and asked for explicit instructions. I MADE A CRAFT, PEOPLE. Like I said on Facebook at 2:45am that day: “On her blog she said it took her ‘a little less than an hour.’ Hello. This craft took me every second of five hours working nonstop. I clearly love Myquillyn’s ideas but she is obviously into witchcraft if this took her less than an hour.”
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Because apparently I lack originality, when I saw her Dr. Suess pillow, I put the book down, picked up my laptop, and ordered one too. One that fit my particular brand of tomfoolery.
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blog_484874_2497424_1411757639-2398049Repurposing is one of Myquillyn’s big themes. Sometimes a coat of paint changes an old piece from grody to fabulous. Or you can reimagine its purpose altogether. We aren’t locked in to buying a matchy-matchy set of furniture from a box store. With that perspective in hand, I set out to find a desk and ended up with this old drafting table I found from a janky welding warehouse. It is irregularly worn and interesting and beautiful and I love it with my whole heart. I’m using an industrial rolling cart for my printer and office supplies, and I also found a bedroom dresser to use as storage under the TV. I have a TV in my office because sometimes writers need to take a break from their excruciating work and watch their shows. OUR LIVES ARE HARD.
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I tested the limits of our marriage by ordering a chandelier to go above my desk which came in 238 unassembled pieces. Because I was feeling warmly toward limbs and stumps, I also asked Brandon to drill branches into the wall above the window, sent off some favorite Instagram photos to Walgreen’s for printing (like 14 cents a print), and hung them on twine with little clothespins. Why not?
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BEFORE:
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AFTER!
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Thank you, Myquillyn, for your relaxed, warm approach to decorating. I felt like you were holding my hand throughout this whole project! For anyone who feels stuck in your style, unable to make decisions, or just enjoys having a lovely home where people feel welcome, grab a copy of The Nesting Place stat. You’ll find every solution to your weird spaces, great ideas for any budget, and you’ll walk away with not just decorating ideas but life ideas, because truly, in every way, it doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.

Do you have any home projects you’re working on this summer? Have you found any great ideas or deals you’d like to share?

On Parenting Teens That Struggle…

I wrote earlier this week about enjoying my teens, and before I keep writing, let me say this TO BE SURE: my kids are ordinary and act total fools sometimes. Don’t imagine that we are skipping through the teen years with nary a rebellion, academic catastrophe, or snotty moody fresh mouth. I will not name names to protect the guilty, but we have run-of-the-mill teens that delight and frustrate in equal measure. That is just normal. Parenting teens is hard. So is parenting toddlers and parenting 2nd graders and parenting middle schoolers (sometimes I resort to singing hymns to manage my middles: “HAVE THINE OWN WAY, LORD, HAVE THINE OWN WAY. THOU ART THE POTTER, THESE KIDS ARE SO CRAY.”)

Parenting is hard, zero kids/parents are perfect, not every moment is a pleasure ever – in any stage, for any parent, for any kid, in any context in the history of life. Every person who disagrees with the previous sentence is a liar.

However, even though I am naturally an Older Kid Mom (I recall the Baby Years and get the shakes), I also recognize that my kids thus far – and I do mean thus far – have operated somewhat in the middle of the pack. While they aren’t skipping grades and ending world hunger, neither are they struggling with extreme behaviors, so my experience is fairly ordinary. We are in the middle of the bell curve.

But parents, do you know how many teens are in crisis? In the throes of addiction or self-harm or mental illness or depression? MILLIONS. So do the math: that means millions of parents are suffering alongside teens that are self-destructing.

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I want to talk today to the parents in the deepest trenches, absolutely battling for their children’s loyalty or health or even their lives. First, you are not alone. Hear that. Parenting troubled teens often involves silent suffering, which can trick you into thinking you are isolated. An easy target for judgment or shame, so many families in crisis struggle alone, afraid or embarrassed or just too damn exhausted to reach out. Society expects three-year-olds to act like lunatics, but we don’t know what to do with a teen that cuts or abuses or destroys or hates herself.Because we are a people who like to blame, so often parents get the side eye: What did you do wrong? What didn’t you do right? What could you have done differently? The truth is, teenagers are whole human beings and they get to choose their steps. So many troubled teens are beloved, they come from good families, they were rocked and read to and cheered for. There is no parenting formula that ensures any child’s path. Families in crisis don’t need a jury of their peers; they need a community of support. A parent can virtually do everything right and their child can still disappear. What’s more, a parent can virtually engage every good intervention, and their child may stay gone.

Then there is the very real reality of mental illness, addiction, emotional disorders, and trauma that many teens are battling. If our child had liver failure, we would go to the ends of the earth for medical care, the best doctors, the strongest intervention, the greatest support network, and all the earth would rally to our side to fight for her wholeness. So many of our teens are physically broken in their minds and hearts, and the magnitude of their hurt completely overwhelms their capacity to overcome on their own, but instead of a chorus of support, their families receive silence or judgment or disappointment which compounds grief and lays a heavy yoke on those who are already suffering.

I want to introduce you to my friend Amy and her son Landon (name changed). This is my dear friend who has struggled mightily for over 10 years with her teen. And I mean mightily. The grace and courage she exhibits, well, I just don’t even know how to talk about it. I am so proud to be her friend. She agreed to tell a bit of her story. May it be an encouragement to weary and heartbroken parents.

When did Landon begin struggling outside the parameters of “ordinary disobedience”?

We first started seeing changes in Landon when he was around 5. That’s when he really started to show some defiance. He became very pessimistic and lacking empathy for others. And worst, no remorse. We started getting calls from teachers about 5th grade.  By 6th grade we were called to the principal’s office.  Now he is in 11th grade and it’s only gotten harder. His high school principal joked that he needed to put us on speed dial.  He’s on probation for the 3rd time. Thankfully, nothing serious – just a lot of really stupid choices that he didn’t get away with.

But, let me tell you, seeing your child in an orange jumpsuit handcuffed is HARD. Just typing that makes me cry. Seeing him in pain because of his choices is so hard as a parent to watch. But we have given him the necessary tools, guidance and resources to make the right choices. We have had to step back and let the natural consequences play out.

And, if you want a dose of humble pie – go sit in the waiting room at Gardner Betts Juvenile Center waiting for your child’s probation officer while every other person that walks by knows your name! Very humbling. I look at the other moms in the waiting room (we all look like we all need to go to the spa). We give each other the I-can-relate-exhausted-look. No matter what part of town we live in, how much money we have in the bank, we are on the same battlefield: fighting for our kids.

What have his teen years been like? What have you been through?

To say his teen years have been difficult is a major understatement. We have cried buckets of tears through these years. We have screamed at God.  Pleaded to God…. This was NOT what I envisioned our family of 6 would look like. We never wanted to spend these teen years concerned about suicide, going to court hearings, spending hours at counselors, having random visits from parole officers. And we are still right in the trenches. Still pray every morning that Landon makes it through the day without getting arrested, killed or hurting someone else.

I pray fervently that I would be a vessel of God’s love. I need His love to pour through me to Landon because my human self doesn’t feel it. I don’t expect a lot of parents to understand how you couldn’t feel love for your child. This was something 10 years ago I would’ve thought only horrible HORRIBLE parents could say. The first time I realized I didn’t feel love for Landon I felt like I was defective or sick or just plain cold hearted. The first time I actually said that out loud to another seasoned mom that had raised a child like Landon and she said, “I know exactly how you’re feeling. I felt the same way,” I LOST it. Cried so hard. Just knowing that I wasn’t alone and wasn’t a horrible person was HUGE. 

That’s what I hope comes from being transparent about our struggles – for those parents out there that are having a hard time – You aren’t alone! I know there are going to be lots of parents out there that will judge me for this post. We’ve had relatives judge us. Please don’t judge us (or do, I really don’t care). We ARE good parents. You have no idea what it’s been like.

Let me give you a glimpse into my life parenting Landon:

  • He has told me he loves me probably 10 times in the past 10 years and probably 1/2 of those were in birthday cards.
  • He has probably hugged me back 10 times in 10 years – note I hug him A LOT, but it’s comparable to hugging a wooden board.
  • This year, he didn’t say A WORD to me on Mother’s day.  But, that didn’t keep me from speaking to him.
  • I am 99% sure that if he is talking to me in a normal tone of voice it’s because he wants something. This is reality with him.

I want to love AND LIKE my child. I want this so badly. I’m claiming that someday I will naturally again. But right now, thankfully God is providing.

What have you learned? How has parenting Landon affected how you parent your other three?

We have learned through several years of counseling, that there is only so much we can do and that it is not our fault. This was HUGE for me because I kept thinking we were doing something wrong; wrong parenting technique, not praying hard enough, not spending enough time with him, not having the means to take him to the perfect treatment center, etc. I blamed myself (and my husband) for so long for all the choices Landon was making. I thought his behavior was a reflection of our parenting. And I was embarrassed! My husband was the family pastor at our church!  We were supposed to have it all together and be a role model for other families.

Stop! Y’all – that is the enemy talking!!! Stop believing it. Get out of the church or community that makes you feel like a failure because your child is “misbehaving.” Get plugged into a support group or church with real people living real lives. It’s SO freeing.

Landon has 3 younger siblings. Thankfully they are all doing really well. We don’t tell them everything that’s going on with Landon, just that he has made poor choices and we still need to love him. They are smart though and know most of what’s going on. Through all this we emphasize how important communication with each other is. We want our kids to be able to come to us with anything. We want them to know we’re not going to freak out and that we will love them through ANYTHING. We get the opportunity to prove that with Landon. Our actions definitely speak louder than words and others are watching.

What would you tell another parent who is in the midst of heartache with her struggling child?

Get help. Get support. Don’t try to do this alone. We have been to family counseling with our children, and marriage counseling. This was huge. Get a 3rd party in there to help. Godly counsel has saved our marriage! If you’re married, keep your marriage top priority! You and your spouse need to be a team. The enemy will see this as a way to ruin your marriage, and it will if you don’t put time and effort into making your marriage strong. Make sure your teenager knows that you and your spouse are on the same team and in agreement. When talking to our kids about parenting decision, my husband and I try to always say, “We decided, we think it’s best, our thoughts are…” It also makes me feel like it has more weight or power. If you’re a single parent –  I can’t imagine. I would seek out a team of strong, loving peeps to back you, support you and help.

We sought out prayer warriors to come along side us and pray with us in this battle. Doesn’t matter if it’s another couple that’s older or younger, just someone you can trust and know that they will do battle with you. I have a friend (my cousin) I call and vent to at least once a week. I don’t know how she puts up with it! But she listens and doesn’t judge and that’s all I need. (I do have to remind myself that I need to go first and foremost to God with my venting. The more I allow myself to be turned to God through these struggles the more peace and wisdom I am given).

Get respite. You need a break. Dealing with a troubled teen is SO exhausting. SO stressful. It can deplete you if you let it. See if there’s a trusted family member or friend that can take your teen for the week or the summer. You never know unless you ask. We ended up sending Landon to Youth Reach Houston, a home for troubled boys. Totally 100% free. I can’t speak highly enough about this ministry. They are raising Godly men there. Anyways, we had 6 months of respite. Not only did my huband and I need it, but our other children needed it too.

You can’t just give up. Never give up on your child. Even if you’re using tough love. That’s NOT giving up. Tough love is TOUGH on the parents, but sometimes it’s the best thing you can do for your child.

Look at your child as being lost. Not simply rebellious. Not horrible. Not defective. Just lost and needs to find his way. You, as his parent are there to help guide him, instruct AND nurture.

You have no idea everything your child has experienced. You may not know why he is behaving the way he is. There might be something that happened to him/her when you weren’t there to cause him to act the way he does. I remind myself of this often when I lack grace, love and compassion for him.

Teenagers need us more than ever. More than the toddler years. Don’t think that just because they’re independent and can do everything on their own, that they don’t need you or want to spend time with you. And don’t expect them to admit it. Ours never has. Try sneaking it in, like when you pick them up from school and say you’re going to stop and grab a bite to eat. Pick a restaurant he likes. Ask questions! Act truly interested and listen.

My husband and I went to a weekend retreat for parents at Heartlight Ministries (a residential treatment center for troubled teens – HIGHLY recommend!) and we got to “interview” a few of the residents that had been there for several months. We asked them if they truly wanted to spend time with their parents and ALL of them without a second’s hesitation said yes! Now granted they had been away from their parents for a long time, but STILL! If there is at least an ounce of desire from your teen to spend time with you- take it!

If you start having issues with your teen or see warning signs from him – don’t ignore it! Don’t have a “he’ll grow out of it attitude.” Keep your eye on it. Get help if it gets worst.

Make sure your teen knows NOTHING can separate him from God’s love and that no matter what your child does, you will love him. Don’t base your relationship with your teen on what he is or isn’t doing.  This is HARD.

What are your hopes for Landon and his future?

I am claiming that Landon will make a turn. That the light will turn on and he will desire the things of the Lord. I hope this comes soon. I hope I get to see it in my lifetime. I hope that he will use the struggles that God allowed to help others. I envision him one day counseling kids. He is SOOOO good with kids. Kids bring out the best in Landon. And, Lord he is going to have such an amazing story and testimony!!!

~

Oh my word. THE WISDOM. Thank you, dear friend. I love you and am so proud of you. Thank you for speaking so much permission and strength into weary hearts today. You are a marvel.

I love you, parents who are grieving. Let us come alongside you. Please talk truthfully to us and ask for help and love and nearness. I asked another precious friend whose teen is so lost what helps most from others and she said, “Kindness.” Tell us specifically how we can help. Teach us how to love well in the midst of struggle. Receive grace – from your people, from God – It is exactly the thing that has always saved us.

God is not done with your child. It is never too late. No one is ever too far gone. Many a prodigal comes home in two years, five years, fifteen years. And may he find open arms, hearts that have been long awaiting his blessed return. And even if he doesn’t, may you rest in God’s grace and sovereignty and realize some homecomings are in this life and some are after it. You have loved well and labored mightily regardless. Well done, good and faithful servant.

~

Some Great Resources for Parenting Troubled Kids

  • Any book by Mark Gregston and the Heartlight Ministries (They have a great weekend parent retreat. Also, sign up for the email newsletter – always has great topics for troubled teens):

“Tough Guys and Drama Queens”
“What’s Happening to My Teen”
“Parenting Today’s Teens”
“When Your Teen is Struggling”

Brokenhearted parents, you are seen and loved. Can you add any resources in the comments (with links) that have helped you and your family? Or parents who’ve made it to the other side, we crave your hope and leadership today.

On Parenting Teens…

I quit my job to stay home when I had my second baby. I taught first grade the day before she was born. Even thought those first few months as a SAHM to two were “mildly traumatizing” (I used to call Brandon at 1:30pm and ask, Are you almost done with work? and he was all It’s 1:30 and I was like YOU DIDN’T ANSWER THE FREAKING QUESTION. ARE YOU ON YOUR WAY HOME OR SHOULD I CALL 911 TO COME HELP ME MANAGE THESE TWO BABIES?????), I soon settled into my new life at home. Because no one told us not to, we added a third baby just two years later and created a full-blown preschool circus.

I essentially raised the babies with my girlfriends during those years. Our childrearing environments included Chick-Fil-A, Barnes and Noble, the local pool, all of our living rooms/kitchens/nurseries/bathtubs, and every park in the greater Austin area. We fed, disciplined, diapered, rocked, and pool-rescued each other’s kids with regularity. One memorable concern was a recurring conversation:

You guys, what about when all these sweet babies become teenagers?? What will we do?? They will become mutant rebels! They will hate us and us them!

May I discuss with you Parenting Teens now that I actually am?

Teenagers are my jam.

The weird thing is, those tiny sweet precious littles you are raising? The teens are the same people, just bigger. That humor? Same. That personality? Same. Those tendencies and leanings and giftings? Same. Your quirky 6-year-old who loves science and animal husbandry? Same, he just gets bigger with a lower voice.

Stop imagining that aliens will take over your darling preschooler at age 13. Your sweet boy will get to age 13 one day at a time. There is no abrupt moment where he ceases being the boy you raised and becomes some adolescent you don’t recognize. The strangest thing is that he is looking you in the eye and talking about armpit hair and course electives. This boy will still lie in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair and remember the day he was born. He is still your baby.

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My oldest son and his cousins.
The time lapse between these two pics was approximately four seconds.

Parenting teens is pretty much the best Mom gig yet. They are funny and smart and you see glimpses of their adult selves. They are beginning to funnel into their gifts and passions, and you feel the most absurd pride about who they are becoming right in front of your eyes.And THE HUMOR. If you know one ounce about me, you know that I value humor over, say, integrity and honor. So when my sophomore plops on the couch, sticks one of his ear buds into my ear (the other one in his) and plays funny Youtube videos for us to watch together? Well, THE WORLD CAN END NOW BECAUSE I AM NOW IN POSSESSION OF ALL THE HAPPINESS. You haven’t laughed until you laugh with your teen over shared humor. When you can share Will Ferrell? What else is there? Die happy.

Did I mention their friends? Because you will weirdly love their friends. They bring a concentrated level of grossness and drama and hunger into your house, and YOU LOVE IT. You love the way they tease each other and act sweetly towards your younger kids. You love the way they praise your cooking, even when you feed them weird things like sweet potato and black bean quesadillas. You love their big, awkward bodies sprawled on your couches, spewing the nonsense they read on iFunny or Instagram. They let you take their pictures and offer advice and scold them even as your own teenagers are begging you with their eyes to knock it off.

It seems completely unfair that right about the time your kids become the most awesome, they fly the coop. Why can’t 5th graders go to college and come back in 9th grade?? I could absolutely live without many, many, many middle school days. But high school? SWOON.

Parents, spend all the preschool, elementary, and early middle school years developing love and trust and transparency with your kids. Every conversation is on the table. Not one single topic is off limits. Laugh with them. Be genuine. Say you’re sorry when you should be. Listen to their dreams and feelings and ideas and thoughts when it is the least convenient. Those moments will come with regularity unless they are squashed; drink them in with relish and you will ensure that they continue. If you are safe now, you will be safe later.

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On their 16th and 14th birthdays.
I BIRTHED YOU AND I WILL KISS YOU IF I WANT TO.
Get super, super interested in what your children are interested in. Invest in their talents. When our 13-year-old developed a sincere interest and gift toward photography and asked for a CRAZY EXPENSIVE CAMERA for Christmas, we discussed this with our film crew, explaining why we were NOT going to buy it for her, and our cameraman, Kevin, who makes an entire living as a photographer said, “If your kid was super talented at the guitar, would you buy her a reputable guitar and lessons? YOU WOULD. So why not invest in your daughter’s gift? My mom bought my first camcorder when I was 10 and here I am.” For the love. We followed his advice and our daughter brought her fancy new camera to Ethiopia two months later and took this:
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Kevin was right.

This is tough for me, but work really hard to not control everything. This is super important. Your bigs NEED to develop independence. Let them bring their problems to you without obeying the immediate instinct to solve it. Ask good questions. Lead the witness. If they think you are only capable of “fixing it,” the well of communication will run dry, because their hearts are chasing adulthood and they need to know you respect that. Be a listener, a gentle guide, a confident parent willing to let their child blow it for the prize of maturity.There is a super high chance your teen will ENORMOUSLY SELF-DESTRUCT. Need I remind you of our adolescence? They will lie, cheat, rebel, succumb, resist, disobey. They will do this, because they are no different than EVERY GENERATION THAT EVER PRECEDED THEM. But that is not the end of their story. It wasn’t the end of ours (thank you, Jesus) and their best years are ahead of them too. If they wobble, stick with those wonky kids. They will remember how their parents remained steady until they course corrected.

Most of all? Enjoy those crazy teens. These are magical, frustrating, insane, hilarious years. This season is so very short. It peaks and crests in minutes. No sooner do they get their first girlfriend then they are off to college. Parental anxiety is a waste of time. It will all be okay. These children are (mostly) a delight. And when they aren’t? Just wait awhile. They’ll come back.

That beautiful 3-year-old you’re tucking into bed? Blink, and you’ll be sending him to Driver’s Ed. I swear to the heavens.

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We will probably regret all the years we wasted in fear and anxiety and control, but we will never regret spending those years in delight and joy. We have these children for around 18 years of THEIR ENTIRE LIVES. Let’s send them into the adult world at the height of our pleasure in them, grateful for the beautiful, funny, smart, interesting, special, precious children that God entrusted us with for this first short phase of their whole existence.Moms of littles? Stop being afraid. Those babies you love now? You will love them even more fiercely in ten years. They will become the young adults you are raising them to be. And you will love them with the ferocity of a thousand splendid suns. And they will make you laugh and cry and shake your head and thank our good God that he trusted you with these extraordinary young people, and all that parenting in those early years turned into incredible teens that you don’t just love…you like.

And don’t forget: In a few years, they will bring us grandbabies.

THAT WE DON’T HAVE TO RAISE.

Amen and hallelujah.

Chicken and Fries

I love to cook. I feed my people crazy food. In my pantry at this exact moment, I have fish sauce, ghee, Garam Masala, and berbere (my ET people know what this is). I make spicy food, sour food, I pickle radishes, I douse our stuff with curry. I feed my family bold, flavorful, ethnic food that sets their mouths on fire. They have been exposed to every sort of recipe. They have assimilated a super wide range of flavors and textures because I want them to love good food.

And every single time we go out to eat, Remy orders chicken and French fries.

Every.

Single.

Time.

This child eats peppery food with the heat of a thousand suns at home. She eats onions, peppers, garlic, curry, broccoli, fennel, quinoa, roasted red peppers, salmon. She gobbles it up like a skinny little carnivore. At a restaurant? Chicken and fries. They were some of the first American foods she was able to stomach, and her psyche has snagged on them. She can pull no other option out of her culinary satchel when forced to make her own decision.

She just goes back to the same predictable flavor.

I get this on a very human level. Sometimes I just want more of the same. I want the same thinkers, the same cacophony, the same groupthink. I assemble and invite a niche brand of religion, worldview, moral outrage, and theology into my ears. I like what I like and I like other people to like the same things.

I watch this with regularity in the weird online world where niche tribes have formed, creating something of a group identity. An issue comes up, the tribe gathers and formulates, then the responses start flying with predictable homogeny. The group machine feeds the outrage or dissidence or full throttle approval or cynicism, and people go public with cemented opinions formed back in the echo chamber without any tempering from different sources.

It’s tricky, because in so many ways, our niche tribes are life-giving and meaningful, as they should be. They offer likeminded community and a place to belong. These are wonderful outcomes in a noisy, lonely world.

But when we invite no other flavors into the mix, the chicken and fries has a downside. When the same views are bandied around the group endlessly, it causes ideas to seize when they should remain fluid. It inadvertently (or advertently) silences opposing or even just differing perspectives, assuring each other that we are right and they are wrong; the echo chamber has spoken. Ironically, opposing tribes operate the exact same way and come to the exact same conclusions; they simply swap the winner and loser blanks.

I know this is my tendency. I recognize my instinct to reach for a familiar flavor to affirm my own ideals. So I have some best practices to save me from myself and maybe they will be helpful for you. Let’s break it down into two categories:

During Conflict

An issue hit the news, a relationship hit the skids, that group or person said or did something offensive, our feelings were hurt. These are the moments we most want our chicken and fries. If there is to be a right and wrong conclusion, we want our people to assure us that we are right. We might even want to bolster some group outrage, because the only thing better than being right is being mad about it, and the only thing better than being mad about it is being mad with a bunch of people. Of course, the group outrage is built on carefully selected messaging from the Wounded One, but this is not the moment to bother with trivia; there is anger to fuel.

  1. Wait one day before you do or say anything at all. I’ve mentioned this personal policy before, and it cannot be overstated. In probably 8 out of 10 cases, the shock or anger or confusion recedes by the next day, and I am able to reassess the situation with clearer eyes. I see nuance I blew past the day before. I can operate out of the thinking part of my brain instead of the fight-or-flight part. It almost never feels as bad as I thought. Assembling the battalion and staging a war in those first 24 hours is the worst decision ever. Regret is virtually inevitable.
  2. If possible, go directly to the source before activating the troops. So often, misunderstanding or misinformation is the culprit. A simple phone call could clear it up or at least take the sting out. Especially for people we love or trust or respect; we should absolutely extend the benefit of the doubt and give them the courtesy of an honest, first-touch conversation. But even if the offense is severe, spiritual maturity requires direct communication; this is how adults behave.
  3. Reach for a different flavor. Discuss this with someone outside of your group. Find someone trustworthy who operates in a totally diverse space. Different perspectives are famously difficult to perceive on our own. Ask questions, try to get to the heart of it all. Prioritize understanding over defending. 
  4. Talk to someone who is in a similar place as the other person or group; pull from that tribe. When the World Vision fallout spiked, my first phone call was to Chris Marlow because he also leads a Christian international nonprofit using a sponsorship model. I said, “Unpack this for me from a leadership standpoint. What are all the factors I don’t understand?” Chris leant me some perspective that I absolutely 100% would not have grasped on my own.
  5. Talk to someone who is older and wiser than you. Every year I get older, I become less of an ass. I will be a wonderful counselor in twenty years, for the love. We need mentors who know the value of compromise, humility, and compassion. The fervor of youth is a double-edged sword; it can be a mighty tool for the kingdom, but it can also wound and slice and destroy. Wisdom seeks out wisdom, not just affirmation. Older believers? Please mentor us. We need you.

Outside of Conflict

These practices will provide the scaffolding for all the measures listed above. If we consistently move toward a wider circle, it will feel more natural to deviate from our chicken and fries in conflict.

  1. In general, nurture some friendships that are way outside of your normal parameters. Someone from across the pond, across party lines, across town, across ethnicities, across ideologies, across age groups. This requires effort and time, but it will make you a more gentle, more informed human. I love my niche tribe, but there is more to humanity than us. I have a deep and varied friend roster, and I cannot even measure how much they’ve changed me. The diversity of ideas, experiences, and perspectives they have brought into my worldview has absolutely altered my trajectory. If all your friends are basically the same, you don’t even know what you don’t know. Southern Baptist pastor? Go make friends with a gay atheist. Then shut your mouth and do a lot of listening. Now we’re getting somewhere.
  2. Connect your different friends with each other. I have several “groups,” and it is easy to formulate a personality for each one and keep them separate, but it is more fun to throw them all in a bowl and stir. My mix and match policy has spun off whole new friendships. This creates stronger communities that become more likely to expand, include, risk, invite. 
  3. Work on humility. I don’t know how to help us all with this, but all this is for crap if we don’t figure out how to be humble friends, humble listeners, humble learners. Arrogance is the culprit to so much destruction. We are not always right. And even when we are, we don’t need to act a fool. The longer I live, I crave humility in people almost more than any other trait – in my friends, in my leaders. I am my worst self in the absence of humility. The higher I place God, the easier it is to locate my own station. When He reigns, I am free to just be a forgiven sinner who doesn’t always have to be right or perfectly understood or popular. When I reign, I have much to defend and protect, because how else am I going to stay on top? With God solidly in charge and honored, I am liberated to just be an ordinary girl who loves Jesus and loves people.

Maybe it’s a good time to take a good look at your tribe, lovely as it may be. Is it pretty homogenous? Is there any diversity? Does it sometimes feel like an echo chamber with the same ideas, same grievances, same perspectives, same future? Take a risk. Get out there. Open yourself up to different. Be someone else’s different. You’ll always love your chicken and fries (who doesn’t??), but you just might discover that you also love tikka masala with raita.

Who knew??

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I am on an Indian food kick and the end is nowhere in sight.
Thank you for understanding and indulging my near constant references.

If I Were An Advertiser

Undoubtedly, one of the best features of our new DVR/On Demand/Netflix world is the ability to watch our shows and skip the ads. I mean, all the good commercials will get posted as a Youtube video on Facebook, so the wheat will separate its own self from the chaff, and we won’t miss such gems as this:
But inevitably, ads slip through. Sometimes we just cannot wait and we must watch a live show and suffer through the commercials. Clearly, these are the dark struggles of life. (Don’t even get me started on the limited amount of Pandora skips. It’s like the universe hates us. WHY GOD???)

Now I’m just going to make this observation: most ads are for morons. More specifically, only fools are going to bite these dangled carrots. Really? Your mousse product will not only battle this Texas humidity and turn me into a hair model but will also make people laugh hysterically at my wit? Who knew I was that funny? And look at all these young, good-looking friends my new hair attracted! Let’s run through a field together laughing hilariously over our shoulders at one another while our hair bounces and shines!

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I have some information to pass on to advertisers. I am here to help you. I realize that sometimes when you’re locked away in your labs, you can forget about us, regular consumers who live in the real world, but I’m here to remedy that. We would like you to know that our brains are actually functional, and furthermore, we have a decent grasp of the English language, including words that you’ve made up that aren’t actually a thing. I’d like to save you some time by offering up the following marketing tactics that don’t work on us.

Yes, a good deal of us are getting older and some (ahem) are turning 40 this summer and we don’t care to go gently into that good night. I know. Fine. True. You’re onto us. However, when you peddle your products with made up words like “collagen modules” and “liposome spheres,” you make us have angry feelings. When you tell me that your “synthesized skin-identical ceramides will visibly turn back the hands of time on skin damage,” I would like to know if you were actually there in my teens and 20’s when I put oil on my face and refused to wear sunglasses so as not to get an irregular sunburn tan? Am I to believe you so deeply understand my particular brand of irresponsibility that you can reverse decades of solar tomfoolery? With your ceramides? Stop it. Unless you have a time-traveling DeLorean, these wrinkles and sunspots are here to stay.

I realize you also have ideas about correcting my “lipid layers” (a poetic rebranding of “fat”…well done), but the promises of “radiance and luminosity” sound rather farfetched. I am already fairly luminous because I live in Texas and for about eight months of every year, I enjoy a healthy sheen of sweat on my “epidermis,” but thanks anyway. Please choose adjectives that I actually want to resemble. (And also decide if we want to be “radiant” with your one product or “matte” with your other one. Pick a lane, Cover Girl.)

Another thing. Regarding your celebrity endorsers: The day that Jennifer Lopez actually styles her hair with Loreal EverSleek and Julia Roberts loads up her eyelashes with Maybelline is the day that magazines stop casting 22-year-old models in anti-aging ads (“The only thing that will help this college student fight the evils of aging more than our expensive cream is her PHYSICAL AND BIOLOGICAL YOUTH!”). This is horse-crappery.

Advertisers, we don’t believe for one second of one minute that these wealthy, famous women who actually travel with aestheticians and masseuses on their permanent payroll are fetching their beauty products from Walgreens. We know that Sarah Jessica Parker did not color her hair with Garnier Nutrisse Natural Shades #60 Light Natural Brown. We would rather you just said, “Gwyneth Paltrow doesn’t actually use our lip gloss, but we’ve included a picture of her in our advertisement because she wants you to know that she thinks fondly of you while she herself has her lips injected with the actual blood pigment of fairy babies.”

Listen, we would prefer you just talked real to us. We might actually believe you if you said, “This product will neither enhance your chakras nor transform all of your troubled relationships, but it might mostly remove the hard water stains in your bathtub. That’s about the most we can do here.” Super. Even better if you cast a tired-looking mom with dirty hair and torn yoga pants scrubbing the tub with an expression that makes sense for the task rather than a coifed lady in ironed linen capri pants smiling at her bathtub like this is the most fascinating moment of her day. I have never one time in my life been delighted while scrubbing my shower. I hope this makes sense to you.

Inversely, Creators of As-Seen-On-TV Products, you can probably tamp down the utter defeat your actors experience when struggling through ordinary tasks like using the remote control with their arms trapped under an unwieldy blanket (#struggle) or slicing a tomato. I’m not sure these challenges are incapacitating an entire generation like your market researchers have led you to believe. “Chopping vegetables the old way” doesn’t actually “take forever,” and I’m not sure “eliminating one of cooking’s most frustrating tasks with the innovative EZ Egg Cracker” has its finger on the pulse of the average cook’s ability to, well, crack an egg on the side of the bowl without a nervous breakdown. I’m just saying your ads are fairly high on drama and low on actual felt needs.

Maybe the problem could be solved if the As-Seen-On-TV people just market to the celebrity endorsers and skip us altogether, because they have real troubles that need addressed. Why, just recently Gwyneth lamented the age-old frustration with Parisian concierges: “When you go to Paris and your concierge sends you to some restaurant because they get a kickback, it’s like, ‘No. Where should I really be? Where is the great bar with organic wine? Where do I get a bikini wax in Paris?’”

Bless.

In the meantime, I have one inch of gray, lovely readers, so I’m off to color my hair with a boxed dye, which I know will have stunning and otherworldly results, because Cameron Diaz uses the exact same brand.

What advertising tactic gets your goat? Because I didn’t even mention pharmaceutical ads which is A WHOLE THING.

Run Your Race

I refuse to be shamed by this: I love American Idol. Thirteen seasons in and I still dedicate DVR space to it every week. I don’t even care, you guys. My musician friends are all it harms the integrity of creative license and fabricates a fan base that makes true artisanship something something and other words come out of their mouths and I’m like ALEX PRESTON.
Fabricating a fan base MY EYE.
Week after week, okay fine, year after year I sit on my couch and grin at the TV. Then I pull up my favorite performances of the night and grin at my laptop. Then they win or lose and I cry and they hug their parents and I sob and they are amazing and I get choked up every week.

I am proud of them. Like a Mama.

I have a similar reaction when listening to an incredible Bible teacher or reading a brilliant book (Jenny points out that I never say this is a great book… I always say this is so well-written!) or watching someone pull off a spectacular dinner party or build something beautiful. I am constantly proud of people.

I am inspired by people doing what they do best.

I mean, I really am. As I read or pay attention or listen, I constantly catalog other people’s gifts, and I think: This is so their lane. I cannot explain this surge of pride I feel when someone bravely offers their gifts up or shares their talents with us or just sings her song well.

And I don’t just mean folks with very public gifts. I choked back full sobs at Remy’s Elementary Talent Show Friday; not because there were six separate performances of “Let it Go” (Jesus, give us strength), but because a group of teachers dressed up like cows and foxes and chickens and choreographed a surprise routine to “What Does the Fox Say?” and I sat there thinking They are so good at being teachers! Look at these teachers being so awesome! These are the luckiest kids on earth!

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You can barely tell from this angle, but the teacher in the black shirt is fully pregnant.
She deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor.
Gosh, we were just born to stuff, weren’t we? God truly built gifts into our lives. Everyone is just innately good at something. Some of us get to make a living with our gifts and others just bless the world with theirs. I am thinking of several women right this second who are really, really good at friendship. They are such good friends to me that it isn’t even fair. And others who I constantly admire for being such good moms. Like, they are really good at mothering. Two of my friends threw creative, fun, adorable parties for their daughters this weekend and I was in awe because I am not a Fun Party Mom; this is a gear I just do not have, but when I see it in someone else I’m all well done and thank you for inviting Remy so she can have some childhood memories of fun parties and maybe time will dull her recollection and she’ll think I threw some.

I don’t like when people minimize their gifts. Oh, I’m just or it’s only or it’s nothing… This aggravates me. There is a difference between humility and insecurity, and wrapping ourselves in self-effacement does no one any favors. We teach our watching children to doubt and excuse and diminish. Do we want our kids to reflect on the mothers who raised them and have absolutely no idea what we loved? What we were good at? What got our pulses racing and minds spinning?

Don’t we want them to see us doing what we do best?

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My mom went back to college when she had four kids spread out over high school, middle school, and elementary school, and that has always been a source of pride for me. She was a teacher in her heart and needed the degree to match, so she chased the dream long before it was convenient or well-timed or easy. Yes, she fell off the oat bran wagon (kindly recall 1991) and we had to buy store-bought prom dresses, but we got to watch her fly. It never occurred to any of us to settle for less.

What are you good at? Not sure? What do people constantly say you are good at? Others can usually identify our gifts long before we are willing to concede. Maybe it is career material. I’ve long said that someone will pay you to do what you love. You might be stuck in a job you hate doing work you don’t care about while your gifts are languishing on the sidelines, awaiting your courage to put them in the game.

Do you know that I always, my entire life, loved to write but never dared imagine that could be a thing? I taught elementary school, which as I’ve made clear, is one of the noblest professions, but I wasn’t great at it and I felt trapped. I later stayed home with all the babies which I birthed every other summer, and when the youngest was about to turn 2, I told Brandon: According to our schedule, I’m due for another infant this summer, but I’m super over babies so I’m going to birth a different kind. And I wrote my first book. Obviously writing a book no one asked for with three kids five and under is an Insane Person Choice, but sometimes you throw out logic and decide to run your race.

Do you know what else? I thought humor was one of my throw-away qualities forever. Surely that had no place in any Jesus Work. Frankly, it was something of a liability I thought, like I should overcome it and get serious, for the love. What kind of a Bible teacher loves Will Ferrell? I guessed I should just do my best with the Real Stuff and try to tamp down the humor, because I am a grown woman who Works For Jesus. But guess what? God made us all as an entire package. It all counts. There are no throwaway qualitites. In fact, those might help point you in just the right direction. Nothing is wasted: not a characteristic, a preference, an experience, a tragedy, a quirk. NOTHING. It is all you and it is all purposed and it can all be used for great and glorious good.

Maybe your best thing won’t draw a paycheck, but it is still where you shine and glow and come to life and bless the world. May I legitimize your gifts please? Just because you don’t get a paystub doesn’t mean you should shrink back or play small or give it all up. Do your thing. Play your note. We are all watching, learning, moved. You are making the world kinder, more beautiful, wiser, funnier, richer, better. Give your gifts the same attention and space and devotion like you would if it paid. (Or paid well. Some of us do our best, most meaningful work for peanuts. Do not be shamed out of your race for a bigger paycheck. I did not make a living as a writer for YEARS. My neighbor once when I told her I was a Christian author: “Oh! Is there a market for that?” Me: “I have no idea.”)

Run your race.

Maybe you need to invest in your gifts. Take a class. Go to a conference. Sign up for a seminar. Start that small business. Put that website up. Build in some space. Say yes to that thing. Work with a mentor. Stop minimizing what you are good at and throw yourself into it instead with no apologies. Do you know who is going to do this for you? NO ONE. You are it. Don’t bury that talent, because at the end of the day, the only thing your fear netted you was one buried talent in a shallow grave.

How many of us are trotting out that tired cliché – “I’m waiting for God to open a door” – and He is all I love you, but get going, Precious Snowflake, because most of the time chasing the dream I put in your heart looks surprisingly like hard work. Don’t just stand there, bust a move. (God often sounds like Young MC.) You are good at something for a reason. God designed you this way; this is on purpose. It isn’t fake or a fluke or small. This is the mind and heart and hands and voice you’ve been given: USE IT.

Let the rest of us grin at you while you run your race. Let us be proud. Let us be inspired and grateful that God made you to do this thing and you are doing it LIKE A BOSS. The timing is never right. Forget that. It won’t just fall into your lap. That’s fake. You are probably not guaranteed success. Sorry. This might be a crapshoot. It will be hard and require sacrifices not just from you but maybe from your people and you might step out on shaky, shaky legs. But off you go because we were not created to stand still, even though that is safe and familiar and you are practically guaranteed never to fall or stumble or grow weary.

We were made to run.

RUN.

I’m grinning at you. We all are.

Some Things I Wish Would Go Away

I like to think I’m an easy person, that I can flex and flow. I’m not wound super tight. For example, last week during Spring Break, it occurred to me somewhere around Thursday that none of my children had taken a shower that week. Do you see what I’m saying? I’m chill like that.

But there are a few things that I cannot handle. My threshold has been reached and I could become that crazy person who screams at the Barista because her half-caf is the wrong temperature. High maintenance over-priced hipster coffee is not my issue, but some other things are. I give you a handful of things I wish would go away:

The Frozen Soundtrack

If you have a daughter between the ages of 4-12, I do not even need to explain this. How can I help you understand my despair? Well, perhaps this picture of Remy’s bedroom door that faces our front entry (you’re welcome, guests) will help you understand what we’re dealing with:

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Every word to “Let It Go” transcribed, including exclamation marks, all caps, and melodrama.
Now maybe, perhaps, I mean I don’t know but I’m speculating that if it was just listening to “Let it Go” on a continuous loop, I might be able to handle it, but what I am actually hearing is REMY’S rendition of “Let it Go” on a continuous loop, and I love that child within an inch of her life, but she does not have a future in composition. She feels differently about her musical potential and has been asking my friends lately what she had to do to “get on a stage,” to which I whisper under my breath, “Join debate.” Bless. All I’m saying is, if that Frozen CD “gets lost” or “gets scratched” or “get shattered with a hammer,” I expect you to look the other way. I am a woman filled with the power of the Holy Spirit, but this is one area even God’s strength cannot reach.

Loud Phone Talkers in Airports

I’ve been assaulted on my last four or five trips by this breed of person. And reader, I don’t mean the ordinary Mom who is quietly talking to her children before she flies to Minneapolis for a sales conference. I’m talking about the guy with the phone and the decibels and the clear disregard for his fellow airport compatriots and is all so then I was like, listen bro, if I wanted to move to Detroit, I would freaking pack my bags and move to Detroit, I mean, this is my sales territory and if Dennis wants to move in on it, then we can throw down until he steps off. I’ll say that to his face, bro. What a wang nugget!

I feel like I am taking crazy pills.

Dear Loud Phone Talker at Airport Gate, this is a small space. Look at us all in here. It’s basically like we’re sharing a bedroom. We are your roommates quietly doing our homework and reading our textbooks and you are tempting us toward mob violence. We are a peaceful people ordinarily, LPT, but if you don’t stop the piercing noises coming out of your mouth hole, Dennis is going to be the least of your worries. WE will throw down if YOU do not step off, bro. Yes, us, these peace-loving moms and uncles and young children and elderly grandmothers sitting near you. You don’t know what we’re capable of.

Let me tell you something: If airplanes start allowing cell phone service during flights, that is the first clear evidence of end times.

Phones That Cannot Be Dropped

You know what? Hi, Apple. Well aren’t you the cat’s meow. You got us. You got us good. We belong to you. We cannot live without you. Our phones and tablets and computers and apps are all synced, and now we’re locked into your updates and newer versions and latest technology, because OOPS, the old technology doesn’t work anymore and unless you upgrade within six months, your phone will turn to salt like Lot’s Wife.

And about this phone. Any phone that is so precious that it cannot handle one tiny drop on the floor is a menace to society. What do you think we are? A People Who Never Trip, Drop Things, or Bang Into Stuff? You are not a phone for humans; you are a phone for stationary plant life. You are only good for cacti. You are small and slippery. It is your lot in life to fall on floors at which point you shatter right alongside our replacement budget.

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I may break you, but you will not break me. Seven weeks and counting with this baby.
You ought to be better than this, man. You are weak. How am I supposed to tweet about the Loud Phone Talker in the Airport now? My right index finger is permanently damaged from your glass shards, and these ten fingers are how I make a living. Thank you very much for ruining my career.

Middle School

I’ve now been in middle school four times and I have two delightful more trips through this quagmire of awkwardness. Hey Middle School Teachers, YOU DESERVE FORTY MILLION DOLLARS A YEAR. Bless it all. These children are all possessed. Reader, tell me there is no worse three-year period in the human experience than 6th-8th grade. It was unquestionably my worst stretch, and now I have one survivor, two soldiers in its trenches, and two more in the innocent, precious world of elementary school still.

I told Sydney (who has struggled and fumbled and tripped all the way through MS), “Baby, these are your worst days. You are horrible, your friends are awful, your body is a nightmare, your brain is impaired, your peers are lunatics and sociopaths, your emotions are a trainwreck, and you are convinced that your parents are hopeless morons. You could be a Prisoner of War and have a better experience than three years of middle school. Just put your head down and get through it. High school is better, college is the best, and then you grow up and pay bills and then you die. I love you. Good talk.”

And I believe you all know Caleb is in sixth grade. Jesus, give us strength, for this one testeth the patience of our wills and I beseech thee to grant him either frontal lobe development to increase his favor or strong legs to outrun us, for thine is the kingdom but as for me and my house, we are not above woe and wrath.

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Can you even handle this picture? His cuteness and charm is currently saving his life.
These are my current hot buttons. How about you, Dear One Who Only Has So Much Patience? What are some things you wish would go away?