Together

I have friends I love who suffered a great loss this week, so this is for them, but since losing a family member is something we all hold in common at some point in our lives, it’s for all of us. We’re in this together. Everyone handles loss differently, but these are the things I wish someone had told me:

While there is a part of you that rejoices—he is in the best possible place and so it’s well with your soul—it will take some time for your heart to grab hold of that truth and find it comforting—that’s okay. It’s also okay to bounce between confusion, sadness, anger; to cry your eyes out for days; to feel numb and then miss him so much you feel like you’ve been turned inside out. This isn’t about you putting on a brave face (even if you could) or showing how strong your faith is. You are grieving a great trauma and loss, and the people who love you understand that.

At the same time, if you find yourself smiling, that’s okay, too. It might feel wrong at first. You might ask yourself, “How could I…?” laugh at a joke, enjoy your children, suddenly find your taste buds again and dive into the casserole someone just dropped off. You can, because God has given us the ability to live through loss in a transformational way. The first time you lose someone this close, it feels like your heart couldn’t possibly recover, and in a way that’s true. You won’t ever be the same. From here on out, you go on with a new heart. One that’s cracked and scarred but, eventually and paradoxically, better able to love for it. When good moments come (and they will), let yourself enjoy life and love the people around you, without guilt. It’s what you were created to do, and it would make him so happy.

Surround yourself with whatever and whoever encourages you, feel whatever you are feeling, deeply and fully, trust the people who love you to roll with it, and shrug off everyone who doesn’t. That’s your emotions—your mind is a little bit different…

Now is one of the times when those whispers that sound like they are coming from you, but aren’t, can be very loud. Most specifically, the one that says, “If God really loved you, if He was pleased with you, He wouldn’t make you go through this. You must have done something wrong.” Reject that voice trying to tear you down and cling to the One who does really love you enough to die for you, Who is walking with you each step of the way, even when you can’t feel it. You are God’s children, and so He has said nothing, nothing, can steal you from him. Not weariness or fear for the future, not an inability to make sense of this, not sadness. Nothing. You’re His, you’re loved no matter what, and nothing you feel or do is a surprise to Him.

Finally, remember that the best thing about days like this is that not every day will be like this. There will be good days and there will great days again. Through them all, the bad, the good, the great, God never changes—that’s why He’s our greatest comfort and our deliverer. He’s with you still, as am I.

Love,

L.

Jesus Nerd

My skateboarding husband and I were watching a movie about his recently adopted sport. At one point, the interviewer asked the interviewees to tell him about a skateboarding legend named Rodney Mullen. This is a guy who revolutionized the world of skateboarding. He ushered in the age of modern street skating by doing things with the board that no one had ever seen or even imagined. He didn’t change or improve on how other skaters used a board. He looked at what the board could do, created something radically new, and made the impossible possible.

 

The guys being interviewed gave each other sheepish looks and one of them shook his head. “Man,” he said, “how do we talk about him without sounding like total nerds.” Then they went on to discuss him in awed tones, like he was Jesus Christ or something. They sounded like total, star-struck, bromance nerds.

It was great, and I completely understand, because I feel the same way when somebody actually asks me about Jesus Christ. “Man, how do I talk about Him without sounding like a total nerd?” Because you can try to play it cool when it comes to talking about someone who is so fascinating, and so outrageous, who changed the world and saved your life—but if you can actually manage to stay cool, you don’t really get it.

Jesus didn’t see humanity in terms of anything we’d done or said in the past. He saw what we could be and then made being our best selves possible—not by giving our past a pass, but by redeeming it, by loving us enough to die for us, by calling us friends, by making us children of God.  Jesus, by dying on the cross, made the impossible possible.

And I’m totally star-struck, in love, obsessed with Him. I’m a Jesus nerd.

One Note

There are two versions of the same song on this album I own. The first version is slow and soulful, the other one has a techno beat. I like the techno version, it’s different, interesting. But the soulful one has something the other doesn’t—one note.

I was listening to this album the other day while I was driving around, my phone was on shuffle and the two versions just happened to play in succession. At one point, I turned to the person riding with me and said, “That note, right there, is why this version is my favorite.”

My passenger raised an eyebrow, the artist I was listening to isn’t for everyone, but I think she got it. A major note, it bursts from a minor key and gives me goose bumps. The sound resonates and reminds me of how God’s love can feel—shocking and sweet at the same time. That one note is what makes this song true.

You know that note?

An authentically winsome smile on a teenager.

The pure sunrise trill of a tiny-boned sparrow after a long night.

The exhausted victor’s tears of a mother at her first child-glimpse.

The right words, both kind and real, that begin to mend a broken heart.

Jesus, to the woman at the well.

There are a million ways to emotionally manipulate people, to draw tears, incite anger, make a heart beat faster. But it’s just that—manipulation, if it isn’t true. Courageous honesty is what we have to search for, find and deliver as writers, artists, people.

Only authentic strokes, notes, words and actions will redeem the lies and pain and darkness—turn them to truth, joy and light. Jesus loved us too much to give us anything less. Truth is what people unknowingly long for, and we’re called to follow Jesus’ example and bring it. Living and working in the medium of authenticity isn’t easy, but God gives us no other options.

"Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long..."

Knowing Jesus

“It’s good you’re thinking about these things, Lis,” she said, drowsily. Looking back on it, I know she was longing for a few moments of sleep between a long day and everyone coming home.

It was hot. A humid breeze oozed through the screen. The air conditioner had clattered to an eternal stop about two years earlier, along with the television, the car. There was no money to fix any of them. So we’d climbed into her bed with our books, but I wanted to talk about the problem of evil in the world. How could a good God…? I turned my pillow to the cool side, and pushed the tangled sheet aside. She wanted to sleep, but that didn’t make what she told me any less true. “I can’t answer all your questions, angel, but when God doesn’t make sense, you should look at Jesus.”

Mom loved God, and when she talked about Him, she spoke in Jesus. But the Jesus I’ve been reading about on the Internet, lately? The one that won’t like me if I don’t agree with the politics? If I don’t buy into the doctrine. If I don’t protest the latest cause…if I do? If I’m not the right color, or the right gender, or the right income level? If I quote too much scripture…if I don’t? If I laugh too much, drink too much, eat too much, or not? If I work too much, or not enough? If I have too many piercings or tattoos, or if I look like the church lady? If I’m too educated or woefully uninformed? If I talk too much about…Jesus, or too little?

Somewhere along the line, things got turned upside down. We don’t remake Jesus in our image, He isn’t someone we enlist in our cause—He transforms us. Remember? Remember your first love?

It can start with the mother of all infatuations. You want to be around Him all the time. You want to know everything about him. He’s all you think about. He’s all you want to talk about. You drive people crazy talking about Him. You drive them off.

As you get to know Him, you’re struck speechless and humbled, because you start to see the miraculous everywhere. The smallest thing will give you goose bumps, from a child’s laugh to a raindrop glimmering for thirty seconds in one ray of sun on a cloudy day.

You see people you didn’t see before, people you used to pretend to ignore, people who used to scare you. You’re surprised by the pain in your heart. It takes your breath away. You want to share the hope that’s inside you. You’d do anything to change that look in their eyes—lost, hopeless, hurt or anxious, bitter and defensive from too many hits, too much disappointment.

But you wait, because you’ve started to discern the difference between how He works and your own, desperate, do-gooder instincts, the ones that start with those good intentions but pave that road to…you know. So, as hard as it is, you wait.

Then, one day, it happens. It can take place within moments of meeting, sitting on a city sidewalk, with the sound of sirens coming closer. Or on a sofa, after years of meeting needs, conversation and relationship. You see that tiniest glimmer of hope in their eyes, could it be? Like you’ve thrown them a lifeline at the last possible moment, but they barely trust it. At that point, there is no alternative, so they risk everything and place their hands in yours. And those hands feel so good. It doesn’t matter if they’re rough or smooth, filthy rich or just filthy. You pray with them, but it’s also like you’re watching this from across the room, because it’s really Jesus touching them, healing them, reaching so deep inside they wince and turning their shame to joy.

Afterwards, they smile, and mostly it just looks free. But sometimes, it’s winsome, chagrined, or a little wondering. They’ll say different things that show their new eyes and heart are already working, "I’ve been so awful," or "I’ve drunk a lot today," or "What do I do now?" But always some variation of this: "That prayer we just prayed. That’s what I’ve needed." Sometimes, often, there are tears in their eyes and you tell them it’s going to be okay. They say, "How do you know? How do you know it will be okay?"

Because Jesus always finishes what He starts.

There’s no formula, though, only God’s Improv, every moment of every day. So, coming to know Jesus can happen like I just described, or like this: You face a little girl on a pillow, when you’re so exhausted from housework and children and a job and no money that you can’t keep your eyes open for one more minute. But you smile, reach out a cool finger and brush her hair out of her eyes. Then, before your lids close and the world fades, you point her toward Him and a hope that never, ever, disappoints.

Mercy's Morning Cafe

I’m drinking one of the best cups of coffee I’ve had in weeks, produced by a portable espresso machine with a woman named Mercy at the helm, who spontaneously sets up shop in different locations around my hometown. Thank God for Google Maps. 

The coffee’s great, and getting better—Mercy’s perfecting her art—but it’s the conversation that really bubbles and steams. I’m surrounded by men and women coming and going, a web of loosely associated friends and acquaintances radiating this morning from Mercy’s center. The conversations swirl around me, from high school basketball to the value of a college education, to goat farming to the difference between a Certified Nurse-Midwife and a Certified Professional Midwife. Someone mentions a book by Naomi Wolf that we’re passing around, which morphs into the idea that it makes no earthly sense to want to be a writer…unless, that is, you’re compelled. A woman (the goat farmer) gets a text from a friend, “What are your views on eschatology?” One side of her mouth tips up. “Interesting challenge,” she says, “answering that in a text.”

I wave goodbye after about twenty minutes to head home to my teenaged sons. They should be rolling out of bed about now, getting their breakfasts and cracking open their books. I have some other stops first, and I’m completely trusting them to follow the routine we’ve established in the decade and a half we’ve lived and homeschooled together. I know they’ll do what they need to do, and I’m pretty sure they’ll do it for the rest of their lives. Although, I also know, God gives no guarantees except Himself, and I’m okay with that, too.

Only later do I think, “I had a pretty conventional upbringing. How did I end up here, living a life most would consider outside the box, associated with others willing to do the same?” It’s a world of parachurch ministries and spiritual entrepreneurs, homeschoolers and home churchers. The kind of people who don’t say Why, but rather, Why not? Then I realize: my parents primed me for this. They were fiercely loyal to God, devoted to following Jesus and to serving others, but they weren't really churchy. 

With Bible-believing parents who raised me, literally, outside the church box, I guess it’s not so strange I find comfort in a diverse group of Christians. But I have other worlds I move through each day, some more conventional, some less. My other worlds include those of my husband...federal government employee, anthropologist, member of Boise's sort of underground longboarding scene. There is also the crazy-fabulous, alone-together community of writers I belong to, and there is the Baptist Church (yes, Baptist) my family recently joined... I could go on.

Inside or outside the box doesn't really describe my experience. This life is like a huge Venn Diagram and I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. With all the worlds we're expected to move in and out of, we can start to feel fractured and a little schizophrenic.  I think the key to remaining whole is to remember this: The intersection of our worlds doesn't happen through us, but through Christ. He draws diverse and many-faceted people together at His center, and invites us in to enjoy each other's company. Oh taste and see that the Lord is good...

We discover God’s mercy in surprising places. Drink it in where you find it, pour it out where you can...and enjoy!

Free Indeed

"Others run after things, and your heavenly Father knows what you need. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself..." ~ Jesus, Mathew 6:32-34

"So if I set you free, you will be free indeed." ~ Jesus, John 8:36

All weekend, the people with the microphones assured the conference audience that God wanted us to reach our potential. Based on the examples they gave, "reach our potential" was obvious code for "become your own success story." Of course, we were encouraged that our success would only happen in Him, by faith.   

I watched their faces as the weekend progressed and the participants grappled with the hell of unrealized expectations. The young and inexperienced radiated fierce determination. The successful, knowing the thinness of the line between victory and failure, barely disguised their anxiety. On the faces of others, fear danced with discouragement. If all that God cares about is you being successful and yet all your dreams haven’t come true—what a huge failure you must be. What a huge failure God must be.

Who needs a God like that? Why would we worship a flawed, inept God like us? 

What does God really say He wants? They asked Jesus, and he told the people. Sometimes he hid his answers in parables that struck most ears like riddles. But not this time. This time, His answer was clear: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind."

"How do we do that?" the people asked Him.

In stories, in straight talk, in action, in grief and in joy, Jesus showed them: "Love each other, and when you love each other, you love God. When you lay down your life, give up your pride and ambition, and serve each other, you serve God."

Did you catch that? To quote God, our Creator, "Listen to Him." It sounds so simple, but it changes everything. With those words, God's freed us from ourselves. You want to reach your potential? Love God, love others, and you're there. God's highest goal for you--achieved!

Now, exhale. Relax those shoulders. Unclench that jaw. He's made you free to live and love, give and serve, work and play with no more worry for your tomorrows. Think of the possibilities. 

"And if He sets you free, you will be free indeed."

On A Cell Phone And A Prayer

I feel as though a disclaimer is in order: There are a lot of blog posts out there that can make a person feel inadequate. So let me just say, I’ve been known to yell at my kids, my husband and I lose patience with each other…frequently. I can be fearful—especially when it comes to doing good, hard things. There are currently cobwebs in almost every corner of my house and I haven’t mopped the kitchen floor for weeks. I’m not talking about a perfect life here. This is a normal life that, occasionally, God illumines in ways I feel compelled to share. That’s all.

So, flashback to a few weeks ago. I’m sitting in the midst of our women’s Bible study. The subject is prayer. We talk about Psalm 55:17: Evening, and morning, and at noon, I will pray and cry aloud; and He shall hear my voice.(KJV)

“So, when do you pray?” the study leader asks.

Morning and night, yes. But the middle of my day? “Well, no,” I blithely spout. “But God and I are talking all day. I sort of feel like it’s a running conversation.”

The women nod and smile. We continue on. But I wonder how a middle of the day prayer time could work. One of the women says she sets her smart phone alarm to remind her. I’m often not at home that time of day. I’m often with others. But I can’t shake the idea.

A week later, I set the alarm. I tell it to repeat daily—so the title of the alarm comes up as “PRAY, every day.”

The next day, the alarm shimmers at the appointed time and, guess what? That running conversation I supposedly have with God all day? Not so much. That first day the alarm rings, and most of the days after, God is the furthest thing from my frantically busy, overtaxed mind. I’m embarrassed, chagrined. But I also feel like I've been given a gift—it is so nearly impossible for us to see ourselves clearly. Here, joy! A rare moment of self-clarity.

The next day, the alarm rings while I’m at work. A colleague is sitting in my office. “What’s that?” she asks. Then, “Oh, an alarm.” I watch her running the options through her head—medication, meeting, pay a bill?

Before I slide the alarm off, I turn my phone around. I show her the one word in the middle of my screen, PRAY. Her eyes widen, then she smiles. We’d been discussing a recurring challenge that seemed to elude solution. “Why don’t we pray about it?” She takes me up on the offer. I close the office door—and we manage about thirty seconds of prayer before someone knocks. I hastily finish up and deal with the person at the door. After the knocker leaves, my colleague gets up. Before she goes, she says, “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed that prayer, but I did.”

As the days go by, I have the chance to pray with others. They are mostly quick prayers, snatched from the hectic whirl of busy days. But “thank you,” I hear, over and over.

The alarm goes off and I get to pray with my sons. It rings and I pray with my friends. It rings and I pray silently for the burdened-looking strangers standing around me at the post office, the grocery store. It rings while I’m driving…and every time, even though I’m the one who set the alarm, it’s like God calling. If I’m alone, I can’t help but smile and say, “Hello.” I feel so full of joy and gratitude that He’s there.

God gives us these gifts. We think they were our ideas, when they were His all along—sometimes, we just choose to stop and listen.

This Is Not My Beautiful House

Melissa Boord Photography

It was in the Economist, but don’t stop reading because of that. Chinese ethnic minorities are finding it difficult, even with an education and a move to the city, to find the right job and feel as though they fit in.

One woman said, “I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

If I had ten bucks for every friend who has said that to me, well, I’d be richer. Often they were non-white friends—a boyfriend from Las Vegas with the full-ride scholarship at Occidental College, the friend living on (but raised off) a reservation, the friend from Compton trying to make it in Seattle, the Iranian friend going to college in Eugene, Oregon.

But that’s not all…there was also the white suburban housewife, the white twenty-something community college student, the white female high-powered executive, the white male stock broker. Here’s a secret: No one feels like they belong. Even people who say they feel like they belong don’t really feel like they belong.

Oh, sure, you might feel that sense of belonging for a few hours or even weeks. But no matter how great it feels at first—the community, the church, the workplace, the relationship—eventually, the honeymoon will be over. That nagging feeling will creep over you that things just don’t quite fit. They’re not really working out. You don’t really belong, and it’s time to make a change.

President and First Lady Obama are the popularly elected leaders of the most powerful nation on earth—there’s no higher or better place to go in terms of success and the approval of millions of people—and based on recent interviews, they still apparently feel like they don’t fit in, like they’re not accepted. You think you’re going to be any different?

I don’t mean to minimize the problem of small-mindedness and discrimination many people face in this world, and I don’t mean to bum you out—but here’s a thought: Maybe we don’t feel like we belong…because we don’t. Maybe we were created for a different earth, one where the pure light you see around you is the reflection of God’s glory. One nourished by living water, available to all, that never runs dry. A world where there is no more hunger, no more tears. A world where we are fully known and know we have finally arrived in the place for which we were created.

Maybe we belong in the new heaven and earth Jesus promised he would create for us.

He promised. “If it were not so, I would have told you,” he said to his friends, his disciples. I don’t know what fire burned in his eyes when he looked at them and said those words. I don’t know what his tone of voice was. But it must have been powerful, because they staked their lives on those words and went to their deaths believing him.

Maybe when we have brief moments of belonging, of sweet communion with those around us, that fleeting soul mate joy when we look into a friend or lover’s eyes and feel completely understood—maybe that’s a glimpse of the eternity we were made for. Ever considered that? I’ll happily not belong here if it means I belong there. Because there means joy, belonging and the love of a loving God, and as Jesus’ friend, Peter said, “Love can make up for just about anything.”

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life.’” John 14:6

“…if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.” John 14:2,3

“But according to his promise, we are looking for a new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells.” II Peter 3:13

“Therefore, be alert and prayerful. Above all, keep fervent love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.” I Peter 4:7,8

Stuff and Coffee

As Facebook is so fond of telling me, “There are bunches of people that like Lisa Michelle Hess who haven’t heard from her in 12…22…35 days.” Forgive me, my friends. Don’t, for one minute, think that I don’t appreciate all the likes and shares. They mean more to me and my writing than you can probably imagine.

But life is full, you know? The novel is coming together—I’m in the homestretch—two chapters to go and TOUCHDOWN! Then, there are the three other book projects I’m hoping to develop and the rest of my homeschooling mom/wife life. Who am I talking to? You know what I’m saying.

Being busy doesn’t stop me from thinking, pondering, ruminating, fulminating…about all the topics I’d like to share with you, though. I have over a month’s worth. Where to start?

As I write this, I’m sitting in “that coffee shop that shall not be named,” waiting for my son to finish a session with his math tutor. Wow! Does anybody work in an office anymore? There is some serious business happening here this morning, accompanied by the whine and hiss of the espresso machine and the cries of, “Turkey Rustico Panini! Nonfat No Whip Decaf White Mocha!” (Do you think behind the counter they call that drink “Why Bother?”)

On the way here, our sun, which has been very shy of late, made a brief appearance through the haze. An incredible song was playing on the Christian station we listen to and it was a beauty moment. It brought to mind God’s presence in our lives, His grace, and the times He gives us glimpses of hope that carry us through the darkest of times. Then, the overly cheerful d.j. came on and chirped, “That’s [artist] with some of her latest stuff.”

Stuff??? I know she wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but seriously? I could only think of how hard it must be to write a good song. Then I thought of all that has to happen to get that song produced well and finally, onto my radio in my car. The effort that not just one person, but many people made to create a song for the Christian Contemporary market that wasn’t just another trite, over-produced, cringe-worthy religious anthem…and it gets labeled “stuff.” It was only the presence of my children in the car that kept the profanities that sprang to my lips from getting air-time at that point.

So we could talk about my dramatic mood swings and all the fruits of the Spirit I still lack, but let’s talk about this instead: Developing and nurturing a creation is hard work, whether it’s a song, or a novel, or a child.

Creating something meaningful and moving is monumental.

Creating something meaningful and moving that, even for a moment, opens a window onto heaven for someone else—that’s an act of God. Let’s give the art, and those in service to God and us through their works…what? What do we owe them? Look, Christians in the arts aren’t in it for the adoration or the money. But a little respect, a show of support, that would be nice.

Time to pick up the boy, but my cup runneth over, and not just because I am now thoroughly overcaffeinated. More later.

From The Heart

“...and Mary treasured up all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

Most mothers love to tell about the day their children were born. These are some of our best stories, overflowing with life-threatening suspense, transformation, the miraculous and in the end, joy.

But none of our stories can match Mary’s. How happy she must have been to sit down with Luke and have a chance to tell her account of Jesus’ miraculous conception and dramatic birth, which she had been treasuring for decades.

Recently, I conducted an interview with an author about her latest book. The conversation ranged to a lot of different subjects: life, the writing process, seeking God in our art. Click here to read it.. The article was a long one, and when I published it, I received some great comments—but my favorite one came from my Dad.

“I like it, but did you type that whole thing? Isn’t there an app now that can do that for you?”

Dad’s notion was similar to my own thought while I wrote up that interview. It’s been some time since I did such a thing, and I forgot how much work it is. Journalism isn’t the writing without a net labor that fiction is. But taking on the responsibility to pass on other peoples’ most important stories to the world evokes its own kind of weighty thrill.

My little article was nothing compared to Luke’s master work. There was Mary, with one of the most amazing stories ever told waiting inside her. There came Luke, ready and willing to pass on her account to the world even though it contained information so explosive and counter to the powers that be, it would risk all their lives. He listened to Mary’s story, added it to others’ eye-witness accounts, and wove the jaw-dropping tapestry of Jesus’ life that we call the Book of Luke:

“Now in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man named Joseph, a descendent of King David. The girl’s name was Mary…

“Gabriel came to her and said, Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you… 

"Behold, you will have a son, and you should name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give him the throne of His father David; and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end...

"The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason the holy child shall be called the Son of God…

“Mary responded, Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to your word…

"And she gave birth to her first-born son; and she wrapped him in cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no guestroom in the inn."

We've no indication that Mary was especially smart, or brave, or good. But we know this: God called her to make visible His love for all of us, and she was willing to risk everything to do what He asked. So was Luke. So should we all.

No Safe Place

I had a chance to catch a cup of coffee and a great discussion with Hilarey Johnson, author of Heart of Petra and Sovereign Ground. We talked about books, writing, God, church, art and Christianity...join us...

Lisa Michelle Hess: You have a new book out, Heart of Petra. Tell me about that.

Hilarey Johnson: If you think of my previous novel, Sovereign Ground, as the story of a girl trapped outside the church, then Heart of Petra is the story of a girl trapped inside the church. It’s about a girl raised in a religious home where her parents do truly love her, but they’ve lost sight of what it means to be led by God and the Holy Spirit. The parents are trapped in legalism and control…and appearances, especially. When you’re involved in ministry you do feel responsibility to not even have the appearance of evil. So, the premise of Heart of Petra was: What if you feel like you’re the only dirty one inside a church?

LMH: That idea of not having even the appearance of evil, which I think we always have in the back of our minds as Christians, for better or worse. Was that the seed that grew into Petra’s story?

HJ: Yes, and also because I’ve been through many church splits. The very first split I went through was right after my parents became Christians. It was painful. So much so, that we walked away from the church at that point, and didn’t attend church at all while I was in high school. When my kids were in junior high, we were involved in a church that was just really…sick, and went through split after split. We were involved in ministry there, so we stayed through them all. But, we eventually felt released by God to leave there, and we slipped away as quietly as possible. My kids were about the same age as I was when we walked away because of a church split, and I didn’t want it to happen to them. So we picked a church and we showed up, bitter and angry and we didn’t agree with all their doctrine…and they just accepted us with open arms. They were so sweet, and there was a lot of healing that went on there. But I guess I still had a lot of, well, bitterness about church. It’s hard to heal from that—it can be like a divorce, especially when it’s not done right. You know, it’s fine if there are doctrinal issues, or this church wants to sing a cappella and that church wants to do contemporary music. It’s fine if you can still love each other and separate. You’ll have two good, different kinds of churches that appeal to different kinds of people. But when one church is preaching from the pulpit about how bad this other church is…

LMH: It’s just wrong…

HJ: Yeah, you can’t spend your whole Christian walk making sure other Christians are preparing for Y2K! I mean, we can laugh about that now, but back in the day, people left churches over that issue.

LMH: It was huge. You can look at other churches or back on past controversies, and it would be laughable (if it wasn’t so sad) the things churches will split over. But at the time, it feels like life and death, like this is that line you cannot cross. Why is that?

HJ: Yes! Why is that? Because when you read the Old Testament, look at the things that God hates—he doesn’t hate gay people, he doesn’t hate sex. He hates “haughty eyes, feet that run toward evil and those who stir dissension among the brethren.” He hates what Christians do to each other. Look, what is edgy to one person is pornography to another and wherever you are in your life, you need to listen to God. If He says so, put it aside, don’t read it, don’t listen to it, hear what God is calling you to do. But by no means spend your time ensuring others follow those rules you’ve been given. And that’s what we too often do. So, if you think following God means giving up coffee (the Christian cocaine), homeschooling, or having tons of babies, don’t preach that everyone is required to do it for intimacy with God. Our rules are not “the way, the truth and the life.” Yielding our lives to Jesus is “the way, the truth and the life.” And everybody’s walk looks different. (Not that that should be an excuse to hold on to some sin God is telling you to give up, just because you aren’t “there” yet.)

LMH: So how do you do that? We know that God wants us to listen to his voice. He tells us that over and over throughout scripture. How do you, personally, hear his voice? How do you do that in your writing?

HJ: I try to write bravely and not pull back. I don’t know if there’s any secret. I continually pray when I’m writing. I don’t have a special procedure. We need to seek Him in our work and not be afraid. I can always delete it later if I feel like I’m crossing a line. There were a lot more cuss words in the first drafts of Sovereign Ground and I ended up smoothing them over…I think I used the word “prick” once.

LMH: And I think, for me, that was kind of the tour de force of Sovereign Ground. This is a novel about the sex industry, but there’s no cussing and no sex. Yet, it feels very authentic, to the point where many people believe that this really is your story.

HJ: Yeah, a lot of people have asked me that but I’ve never been inside a strip club. I really did not want to describe gratuitous sex in SG. I didn’t want anything that people would see as attractive or intriguing. I didn’t want any extra draw to the industry. One of the comments I got back from an early critique, I could tell it was a man…he said, “She seems so naïve and yet, she’s so successful in this mysterious and alluring industry.” I thought, really? You don’t think these young girls are naïve? How do you think they get into it? They think they can do a little work and make a little money and it’s not going to destroy them.

LMH: Well, let’s talk about Sovereign Ground, because I know that was a pretty incredible journey for you…

HJ: Right, well, I never intended to write about a stripper. I just had a vision in my mind of a cop carrying a girl out of a bar, and her not having a lot of clothes on…and the bar being on fire. So I tried writing a traditional romance—I’m not a traditional romance reader—but I kept trying to write a romance. I tried writing it from her point-of-view and his p.o.v., third person…and that was the point where that book was mysteriously deleted. I was three or four chapters into it, and it was just not on my computer one day.

LMH: Whoa…

HJ: So I stomped into the other room and paced for a while. And at some point grouched, “Okay, God, fine! How do you want it to start?” and I heard that opening line in my mind, “Sometimes I dream of dancing.” Which, at that moment, when I realized what that meant, was troubling. I thought, who’s going to want to read that? But it just kept coming and it came from her perspective. I had never written in first person before and it was really scary for me to put that out in first person. Not because I thought people would think it was my story. I’m actually pleased when I hear that, because then I know they think it’s authentic.

LMH: And it’s gotten great reviews and you’ve garnered some pretty incredible endorsements from the likes of Tosca Lee. Yet, you chose to self-publish both Sovereign Ground and Heart of Petra. Tell me how you made that decision.

HJ: When I was bringing SG to the industry, I was told that the writing was good, that it was where it needed to be—

LMH: And we’re talking about Christian publishing—

HJ: Right. Christian publishers, Christian agents/editors. But the next thing was, “Wow, I just don’t know where I’d put you.” There was also one that stuck out the most (and I won’t say what publisher) but he said Christians just don’t want to read about the sex industry. It’s too dark. So, that may have been true at the time and at the time there was so much turmoil in the publishing industry and people were just trying to “save the ship” so they were only going to publish what they were sure would sell.

LMH: That’s still happening.

HJ: Well, I know that some of what I went through was just between God and me. God had to bring me to a new place, and it really was painful. I was being broken, I was searching the Bible for answers, and I wrestled with Him. I can look back at all the things He was revealing to me about trusting Him and…it really came down, for me, to the idea of not “seeking the approval of men.” I had the story, it was ready to be published, and there was nowhere to put it. It seemed like God was saying, “I gave it to you, what more do you need?”

LMH: So you put it out there. If you weren’t concerned about people thinking SG was your story, what did concern you about it? You said it was scary, to write it in first person…

HJ: Well, a lot of people just want an escape. As Christians, we don’t want to go back to that place we were saved from. And we’d rather see people on the other side, cleaned up and fixed. It’s hard to walk through the fall with someone.

LMH: So are people in the industry right, then? Will Christians not buy fiction that is really dealing with the modern-day, on-the-ground human condition?

HJ: But everywhere you go on-line, you’ll see people commenting about how they’re looking for good, different, edgy fiction. So those people—it sounds like there’s a market out there—why wouldn’t they buy these books. Why wouldn’t they tell someone else when they find one?

 LMH: You have a pretty edgy cover on Sovereign Ground, and it’s interesting, because I have friends that I was recommending it to, and I know that if it had been a secular novel, they wouldn’t have blinked at the cover, they would have just trusted me that it was good. But because it was a Christian novel, that cover gave them pause, about whether or not they should read it…

HJ: The designer that created it…one of the things we liked about that cover was that her face was hidden. So it had the sense of sexuality and allure, but also the sense of shame and darkness. And we didn’t want the cover to appeal to the over churched who have it all figured out. It wasn’t their story. Heart of Petra is their story. Sovereign Ground is for the people who are still trying to figure things out, who are willing to read Christian fiction, but haven’t come to the point where they have chosen God for themselves. And I wrote it for teens, many of whom are reading really sexualized books. I didn’t want them to be tempted, but I wanted them to be drawn in enough to see the allure of it, and then see what God has to offer instead. My sister let her eleven-year-old daughter read it. It showed up on her Kindle and my niece was like, “Oh, Mom, this is Aunt Hilarey’s. Can I read it?” My sister wasn’t sure, but she did, in the end, let her read it, and then asked her what she thought. My niece said, “I think that she thought she was in control, but we’re never really in control, are we Mom?” My sister was able to say to her eleven-year-old daughter, “Right. You either give your control to boys, money, or God. Those are kind of your three big options.” They were able to have that discussion and she got it. She may be more mature than your average eleven-year-old, but I know what I was reading at eleven, twelve, thirteen. If Christian parents think that their kids don’t have access to this stuff, they must be living off the grid. We know the kind of stuff we would access when we were that age. Today, it’s a hundred times more readily accessible to our children.

LMH: Kids, and adults for that matter, are curious. They’re looking for answers, they’re looking for salvation, for heroes, right now, in their modern lives. So it would seem like…if God’s calling you to write allegory or fantasy, obviously, go ahead and do that. But it can’t be that there are this few Christians being called to write authentic, modern-day fiction—it’s seems like we’re shying away from it. Like we’re scared or squeamish. I saw this quote the other day: “These days, real-world believers are shouting more and drawing larger, more startling figures—from pulpits, in political rallies, on the Internet. In response, writers with Christian preoccupations have taken the opposite tack, writing fiction in which belief acts obscurely and inconclusively.”

HJ: When I was writing Sovereign Ground, my daughter at one point said to me, “Mom, do you want to write a book that nobody remembers and everybody kind of liked?” I think I would rather write something that some people might hate, but that makes people think for a long time, after they’re done reading it.

LMH: So, speaking of the things we do to each other, there are a lot of factions out there…a lot of disdain, even among Christians, for Christian art, Christian fiction. Things that have that label. People have been talking about this for decades. They throw around quotes and names like Madeleine L’Engle, C.S. Lewis, Flannery O’Conner. You hear about bands like Switchfoot talking about not wanting to get trapped in the “Christian box…”

HJ: So why does this keep coming up? Why can’t we get past it?

LMH: Yes!

HJ: Well, here’s one possible reason: We are so mean to each other. Christians will tear each other down so much sooner than the world. And we zero in on silly things like, “That sounds a little pre-trib, so I’m not going to read that.” Or, “That music sounds like they might be talking about the gift of tongues, so I’m not listening to that.” We latch onto these dogmatic, little details instead of looking at the bigger picture, or the work as a whole. We don’t have a safe place as Christian artists, because the world doesn’t want to hear the message, and Christians lose themselves in the details.

LMH: Why do you think we feel like we need to hide what we believe about God and reality and living in the world as Christians, in fairy tale formats, or historical fiction, or allegories and fantasy?

HJ: I think we should be really clear on the idea that we don’t need to protect God and we don’t need to embellish God. You need to do what you’re called to do, bravely. Living in the Spirit is wild and can be scary. Creating art as a Christian requires trust. It’s a spiritual act that goes on between you and God, it’s work and you can’t follow anyone else’s choreography…and you know, I am seeing this more and more in Christian fiction. Where people are dealing in their work with realistic injustice and pain and evil in the world and portraying much more realistic reactions to those injustices than we have seen in the past—

LMH: And not just for the shock value, but wrestling with it in an authentic way—

HJ: Right. I think it is changing. I don’t think there’s any quick fix to all of this. You’re going to have the world pick up a book and be irritated because you alluded to the One True God, and you’re going to have Christians pick up the same book and say that you didn’t put enough God in it. You have to produce what you’re called to create, live the life that you’re called to live, take the abuse and try to ignore the praise!

LMH: So how do you handle the abuse?

HJ: I haven’t suffered too much abuse…yet.

LMH: That’s good.

HJ: I probably give myself the worst abuse. I criticize myself louder than anyone else. When you were talking about “Christian artists,” I was thinking, well, I’m not really a Christian artist…I don’t consider myself an artist. But then I thought, I bruise easily and I create stuff, so I guess that does make me an artist…

LMH: …and you’re good at what you do. So you can take that praise and just say thank you. 

HJ: Thank you.

I'm All Right

I have a complicated relationship with a couple of things in my life: My hair, and stuff that many of my fellow believers commonly refer to as "blessings."

The guy who cuts my hair, we’ll just call him “Mark,” should be hair stylist to the stars in LA or New York. But, for some reason, he’s cutting hair in a salon in downtown Boise, taking any Idaho cowgirl that walks in the door and sending her out looking like a Vidal Sassoon shampoo commercial…except for me.

Well, he has been making me look fabulous for months, but a few days ago, I sat down in the chair with a sigh and, “Mark,” I said, “I’m tired of looking like a female announcer on Fox News.” I could see him raise an eyebrow at me in the mirror, but I forged on. “I mean, what you’ve done is beautiful, but I don’t have naturally straight hair, you know? My hair is wild and wavy and I like that, it fits me. Can’t we do something to work with the wave so I can wash it, scrunch it, and go? The forty-five minutes with the blow dryer and the straightening iron—I just can’t take it anymore.”

This was the point where Mark gave me a look that was beyond verbal description but definitely had connotations of, “You are an annoying middle-aged lady who doesn’t know from pretty.” And then he picked up his scissors, and went crazy. Little pieces of hair landed everywhere—on the floor, on me, on him, on my friend who’d come along and was sitting in the chair next to us. It was sort of like a scene from Edward Scissorhands.

By the time he was done, I looked like an aging British rock star—although my husband says I look like Meg Ryan, God bless him, which is why we’re still married after twenty-six years. You can be the judge.

Thing is, he did exactly what I wanted, and I love this cut. I step out of the shower, squoosh some gel and leave-in conditioner into my locks, and I go. It’s awesome! I feel like myself again.

It reminded me of my relationship to my current home. There’s a blog post floating around the web that I love, about someone’s joy in realizing that her 70s kitchen really is a blessing. Click here to read it. I’ve had a bunch of houses with 70s kitchens, so I can relate, but my current kitchen is much more fashionable.

This house is the newest house I’ve ever lived in. The story of how we ended up here is a long, “sold high and bought low,” “in the right place at the right time” kind of story. We’ve lived here for three years now, and I’m trying to feel at home, but it’s hard. (Which sounds so stupid. Talk about first-world problems.) This is not my beautiful house…is it? Shouldn’t I be living in something built in 1947, with paneling on the wall in the basement and plumbing that makes that kerchunk sound when you turn on the faucet?

This attitude that I’m slowly seeing in myself is puzzling and more than a little disconcerting. Mark, who only charges me a little more than the gal at Great Clips charges, but who gives me a cut that’s about a bazillion times better, is a blessing, as is my kitchen. What is it about me that can’t just settle into it? I have hair that keeps growing no matter what I do, and a roof over my head. What difference does it make what they look like today? And if I have this much trouble with these things, how will I deal with heaven? I have no idea what living in the physical presence of God will be like, but I know it will be a gift I don’t feel like I deserve.

All kidding aside, I’ve been dismayed to discover an attitude in myself that reminds me of friends who grew up in less than functional families or came out of lives of addiction. One of the hardest things for them about living a “normal” life is that it feels surreal, like they’re faking it. As if the life they are living isn’t really theirs to live.

In thinking about those friends, that’s when I get my Ah-ha! moment. Because here is the secret that some of those friends have discovered: It’s all a blessing.

The good, the bad, all the normal boring in between—when you’re a Jesus follower, He uses it all. Your crazy past, your unknowable future, your surreal present—your life and everything in it are putty in His hands, to move you forward, grow you up, transform you.

Sometimes, the blessings look like a first-world suburban dream, sometimes they look like a studio apartment on the weird side of town complete with cockroaches (been there)—sometimes they look like tragedy on a Kurdish hillside. But in the end, He’s promised, He’ll make it all good—and He hasn’t lied to us yet.

There is no question about how God responds to the circumstances in our lives. He uses them to draw us closer to Him. But while we cannot do anything to thwart the will of our Creator God, one of the paradoxes of the Christian faith is this: how we operate is important. Our response to our circumstances means something, to God and to the work He is doing in us. The question is, how do we respond to adversity, with anger and doubt or with faith? How do we respond to plenty, with pride and a sense of entitlement, or gratitude, open hearts and open hands?

We have these ideas of who we are or who we should be. In the end, none of that will matter, when we see him face-to-face. What matters is that He saved us from ourselves--and I don't know about you, but that's a blessing that is more than all right with me.

Pilgrim Hope

                                                                                      Photo by Melissa Rose Boord

We’ve had some dark days of late. You know what I’m talking about—Ferguson, the Middle East, suicide, genocide—take your pick. But God has taught me, over the years, something important about dark days. Pilgrim steps have taken me into the darkest of emotional and spiritual places three times. Many of you will recognize these places. Many of you have been there yourselves.

1. I was nineteen, and I had to decide what I desired. I could continue on the path I had embarked upon, pursuing what the world said I should want—passion, money, adrenalized adventure, success, fame. Or I could pursue a life that might include all or none of those things, the life that God desired for me. In the simplest of terms: did I want what God wanted, or not? It was an agonizing question of trust and control from which, I was fairly certain, there would be no turning back. At the time, the answer felt like life and death. I still think it was.

2. I was in my early thirties. One minute, she was laughing and vibrant. A world without her was unimaginable. The next minute, I was holding her in my arms, watching her life drain away. This darkness was the most humanly familiar of the three, and the deepest cut. It was also the most transforming. When the clouds began to clear, ah! A shining silver lining—I discovered that my faith didn’t rely on me, but was held safe and unassailable in the hands of my Savior.

3. Six weeks of medication-induced nightmare depression in my early forties. Yet here, also, a bright side, beyond the joy of finding out how easily I, unlike most people, could exit that shadow land. After years of praying that I would somehow better love and understand my friends and family who struggle with depression and anxiety—prayer answered. Now, rather than being mystified and a little judgmental, I am floored by their courage.

The Apostle Paul also knew about dark days. He said that dark days “produce endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint,” because hope—that is God’s love poured into our hearts. It’s the proof that He abides with us.

It is sin in our world that produces dark days. Sin produces death and the Bible is clear on this: death is the enemy. But in his ever-paradoxical way, God turns even dark days into light and hope, if we desire it. It is in darkness that we who believe begin to see ourselves and God more clearly.

And so, in these dark days, we mourn with the mothers who have lost their children—my fellow believers, it doesn’t matter why or how they have lost them—and we pray for peace and a way to love those, in our own country and in our world, that we do not understand.

We mourn for those who are trapped in darkness by their own minds and emotions. We pray and hope for their relief and vow to be there for them, no matter what.

We mourn for those who are deceived, who have been drilled from their earliest days to believe that God desires hate and murder from them. We pray and hope that they will see the light—and there is light. A Christian in Iran tells us: “Do not pray for us, pray with us. If you pray for us, you will pray that our suffering will cease. Instead, pray that we will have courage and be light in our sufferings, because it is those sufferings that are turning others to Christ.” (Confession: I can’t help it. I still pray for, as well as with them).

We do not mourn as those who have no hope. We do not become weighed down by others’ burdens, angry or defensive. That is not who we are. Instead, we access the power of our hope to lighten their loads, to lift them up. It doesn’t matter that we don’t understand, that we would have done things differently, that they are our enemy. It doesn’t matter. And saying, “That’s hard. I’m so sorry. Let me help,” does not change who we are or what we believe.

Yes, this can be difficult, mourning with hope, compassionate joy. Sympathy when fear and righteous indignation comes so much more easily. Intentional action that means something instead of merely going through the motions. This is work that takes training, thought, heart, presence, and courage. It takes eyes that see the world differently than everyone around you. It takes the Spirit of the living God.

But we were made for this. We’re not just standing alone and waiting to be rescued. We are on this pilgrim journey home, together, and we’re supposed to be gathering as many stragglers as we can along the way. He has told us, so many times and in so many ways: He walks with us, this journey is worth the cost, and it will not disappoint.

*Photo by Melissa Rose Boord

Many Kindnesses

“Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do…but how much love we put in that action.”  ~Mother Teresa

Ahhh, home.

Just returned from a week-long visit with a friend who needed some help after a life-threatening illness and emergency surgery. Beyond comfort and company (and the changing of some bandages), I did for her family basically what I do for mine everyday—laundry, dishes, dinner, errands, drop-offs and pick-ups—I love these people and it felt so good to have the opportunity to do this for them. Somewhere along the way, as I was thanking God for that opportunity, a little voice in my head said, “When was the last time you thanked God for the opportunity to do these things for your own family?”

Oh, I don’t know, the answer to that question might be, “Never.”

Someone once said, “Many kindnesses are spread around…that should have stayed at home.” Why is it so often that serving others feels like the greatest thing in the world to do, except when it comes to the people closest to us, the ones we live with every day? I love my life, adore my family and I’m satisfied. I’m truly thankful for them. But I can’t remember the last time I felt deeply grateful to God for the chance to serve them. You know, that “job well-done,” sleep the sleep of the righteous feeling you get from helping others?

It isn’t that I don’t love the life I’ve chosen—I  do. It isn’t that I feel unloved or underappreciated—I don’t. It’s just that, if I get to the end of the day and I’ve “only” had the opportunity to meet my family’s needs, I feel like I haven’t done enough. And that’s crazy talk.

Sure, God calls us to reach beyond our family and meet needs sometimes (and sometimes, often). When He calls, by all means, answer the call, say “Yes!”

But in the meantime—Mother Teresa and the needy of Calcutta/You and your family—there really is no difference. Be deeply grateful for the chance to serve them. And sleep well.

Writing Without a Wife

Recently, I attended a really great writer’s conference, which brought back memories and comparisons to other conferences. I learned early on, in college, not to ask that newbie writer question: “How do you find the time to write when there are so many other things in life crying out for your attention?” It elicits the usual smug look from the Author with the microphone – the gaze down the nose and the answer (say it with me, now), “You don’t find the time, you make the time.” Touché.

Many years later, after marriage and children, as I was beginning to catch glimpses of the world beyond sleepless nights, childhood illnesses, and so, so many diapers, I decided I wanted to write fiction. When I attended my first fiction writers conference I was more confident and just curious enough to ask that famous newbie question of the male keynote speaker – but from a new vantage point. It went something like this:

"I’m feeling the call to write, but it takes a lot of time to do well. I have small children and a husband with his own stressful career. I’ve been wondering lately whether and how much it is appropriate to take time from my spouse and parenting roles to give to my writing?”

As I suspected he would, the man in front blustered about being wholeheartedly committed to your calling, and spouted truisms like “writers write.” Finally, he kind of wound down…I don’t know, it may have had something to do with the faces of the women in the audience. After a pause he shrugged his shoulders and said, “The truth is, I have a really great wife. She takes care of all that while I write.” While I appreciated his honesty, I almost responded, “So what you’re saying is that to be successful, I should get myself a good wife?” I didn’t say it. I was confident, but I wasn’t that confident.

At this most recent conference, the speaker had a running joke. When someone called him about taking on a project his first question was, “Does it pay?” You would need to hear the whole series to understand why this was funny, and it was funny. It was said somewhat tongue-in-cheek. But I couldn’t help wonder what a wife’s first question would be: something along the lines of, “Who will take care of the children?” Or maybe, “Will it conflict with my husband’s travel schedule?” Questions that the keynote speaker didn’t have to hesitate about because, I’m assuming, his wife took care of that. I’m also betting she did some major sacrificing in order to make ends meet in-between those paying gigs.

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with how these men arranged their lives and made their decisions. They were answering God’s call, gave appropriate credit for their success to their wifely partners, and I know acted courageously and sacrificially in their own ways. In addition and understand, there is no way I’m going to let my role as wife and mother or my calling as a writer become excuses to shirk any of the roles and jobs I’m called to do. God forbid.

It all just helped me realize I needed to carry over a lesson from my last career. As I began to take on leadership roles and management positions, I looked around for mentors – people who could teach me how to manage well. Many of the best leaders and managers I knew were men, and I did learn from them. But it didn’t take long to realize that following their example could only take me so far. What worked for them wouldn’t necessarily work for me for the simple reason that they were men and I was a woman. I had to find my own way, or find women who could help me, and twenty years ago, that was easier said than done.

Lately, I’ve been reading the Old Testament book of Numbers, which can be mind-numbingly (numbingly…get it?) boring in places. But it’s also helped me see how much context matters. The Old Testament God, without the revelation of Jesus Christ, could be seen as vindictive, a puppet master, ruthlessly moving human pawns in some unfathomable game. But taken in the context of Christ, who taught us that God would make the ultimate sacrifice to save us, that he loves us like children he would die to protect, suddenly so many of the Old Testament laws look different…they look like love.

As I’ve pondered this latest writer’s conference, there’s another verse from the Bible that I’m seeing differently, in love’s light, and taking it to heart. 

“And older women, likewise…should teach what is good, so that they may encourage the younger women...”

I have a lot to learn, but I have also learned a few things over the years about being a woman, a wife and mother, and having a call to write. I’ll share some of what I’ve learned in a future post, but in the meantime, how about you other Christian women living a life in the arts, or just involved in the art of living. What is your one best jewel of wisdom that you would share with “the younger women?”

Of Motherhood, Careers and Salvation

There’s been a lot of shouting over the fence lately. Christians on each side, weighing in on the debate:

Is being a mom enough, or do women also need a career to find true fulfillment?

As if there aren't whole lives to be lived before and after our child-rearing years. Alexander the Great conquered the known world by the time he was thirty - my sisters, what are you waiting for? Seriously, I’m not here to put down anyone else’s journey. But I do feel called to add my voice and my experience, mostly for my sons, and so...

Dear Sons,

It’s been about fourteen years since, at the age of thirty-three, I chucked a successful career in order to parent and homeschool you full time. The regret I have is the same one I had the minute they placed you in my arms: I wish I’d done it much, much earlier. I was blown away by the feelings I had for you - I wasn't one of those baby crazy girls. I wasn't even sure I would like you until I saw you, but you had me at "hello."

I know you'll roll your eyes at this part. "Oh, Mom," you'll say. But if I lost that career only to gain the chance to tickle your little baby toes with kisses every morning, breathe in your milky breaths as you drifted off to sleep, nuzzle your wrinkly necks, be there for your first smiles, and your first words and your first steps – it would have been enough.

The Bible says that women will be saved through child bearing, if they continue in faith and love and holiness with self-control. It’s a notoriously difficult and mysterious verse, especially in our culture, and one open to a lot of misinterpretation. It’s a verse I preferred to ignore, until I had children.

Jesus walked with me on my journey of enlightenment through all of your many incarnations: the screaming at 2:00 a.m. infant, the exhausting never stop toddler, the astonishing man-child and the amazing young adult. Both of you on more than one occasion came close to death and I was nearly undone. Even so, every day with you has been full of life – and if I haven’t loved every moment, I’ve loved every phase. I kid you not, each year I’ve thought, “This age is the best.”

While I worked in partnership with your two fathers, the earthly one and the Heavenly One, to love you and grow you up, this is what grew in me: love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Hmmm, where have I seen that list before?

Like the Book says, there is a season for everything under the sun. Over the next few years, our season, the one where you get the best of my creativity and the lion’s share of my time, will come to an end. More and more, God will use my gifts and talents elsewhere.

But I want to be clear, I’m not leaving you in order to find myself. I’m not leaving you at all, and I already know who I am – a strong and courageous child of the living God; someone who knows how to love, sacrifice, comfort, and show compassion and mercy; a woman whose faith in her Savior can no longer be shaken, and I became this person while I was your mom. My sons, know this: So many times and in so many ways being your mother has saved me. For that, and for you, I will be eternally grateful.