A House Upon the Sand

The moment my brother ended his life, the foundational level of safety and security I lived with for 36 years crumbled beneath my very feet.

I felt the innate protection of my big brother growing up. When I started elementary school, I was never picked on on the playground because everyone knew he was also there. In middle school, if a boy broke my heart or wouldn’t take no for an answer, I only had to mention a name in front of my brother and the problem would be mitigated. But even as an adult, that layer of security was steady and sure.

At 25, my first husband secretively walked out on me on a Tuesday afternoon. The first call I made after dialing my boss to let him know I wouldn’t be at work the next day, was to my Dad. I asked that he and my brother be there the next day with his truck and trailer to help me pack up and move my life out of my apartment. They came, no questions asked. My brother, with levity to lighten the shock and sorrow.

When entering my second marriage, I realize now I had a deeply-embedded and confident assurance that if anything ever happened like before, my brother would always be there to help me pack up my furnishings and pick up the pieces.

Us against the world type of thing.

Even after my brother and I’s relationship fell apart and I was forced to put strong boundaries in place with him, I still knew if/when anyone else failed me, if I was ever in a bind and really needed help, my brother’s rescue was only one text message away. No matter what. Even if we hadn’t talked in months. Even if he was on the other side of the country, he would board a plane to come to me within hours.

If something needed fixing, he would do it. He was the master of figuring things out. If I needed help hunting down a particular item, he would find it and ship it to me. For as many problems as my brother caused in my life over the years, he was able to solve just as many. There was comfort in that. Peace. Protection. Stability.

None of this was even a conscious or spoken thought for me. It was just a knowing. Deep and immovable. I didn’t even realize it was there until after he was gone and the very fabric of my confidence started to unravel. It took me a long time, and many soul-searching journal entries, to pinpoint that it was his absence driving those feelings.

I felt untethered.

Like I was free-falling through life with no safety net.

My safety net had been funneled into an urn and buried underneath the earth in southern Kentucky.

And now I felt alone and orphaned in a world where my Dad could no longer come and save me either. His help was lost to me in the tangles of his cerebral cortex, a condition they call Dementia.

Kids Church Songs and Deep Spiritual Truths

It is a strange unfolding to realize how much of your strength and stability is built on the shoulders of another person. How crushing it is to lose those things when they are gone. To realize how misplaced this vital thing had been.

How shaky a process it is to find all new footing, a new place to build upon. And how long and arduous the labor of stacking brick upon brick rebuilding your life once more. I still feel the tremors of aftershock today, threatening to tumble what height I’ve regained. Insecure of my work and the new site for my construction.

There is a song I sing to my son that I used to sing in Children’s Church growing up. It’s based on a story in the book of Matthew, chapter seven, a parable titled The Wise and Foolish Builders. The song comes with fun hand-motions that make it a real crowd-pleaser for toddlers.

The wise man built his house upon a rock
house upon a rock
house upon a rock

The wise man built his house upon a rock
And the rains came tumbling down.

The rains came down and the floods came up
[repeat 2x]
And the house on the rock stood firm.

The second verse is a contrast to the first. It sings of the foolish man who builds his house upon the sand, and at the end, “the house on the sand goes SPLAT!” (Insert riotous laughter and squeals of delight from three year olds.)

The point of the song – and the parable – is that God is The Solid Rock foundation upon which we can build our lives, so that no matter what storm comes, we stand firm.

How did I get this so wrong? I berate myself now, standing in the rubble of The After.

But I don’t know if that’s the right question – or accusation, as it is.

I think mostly, I have spent my life expecting if I was a good Christian girl, who followed the rules, and paid my tithes, and spoke the right confessions in the mirror every morning, I would be spared any “splatting” experiences in life.

But I think what I’m finding is the splatting still comes.

And, even without a brother, I’m never truly left alone to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Though my soul feels this way at times and my enemy wants to tell me it’s the truth. It’s not.

A Hurricane Flattened My House, Now What?

“We say, after we’ve experienced something, ‘Well, it all turned out for the good,” but you weren’t so sure about that while it was happening. When you’re going through it, it feels like death, and you can’t even see any life after this.’” – Steven Furtick

In my first book, Now What? A Story of Broken Dreams and the God Who Restores Them, I tell the story of my divorce and how I was so angry at God for letting it happen. Letting my life and dreams fall apart when I had followed all His rules. But as it turned out, I didn’t even know who God was at that time. And even as I ran fast and far and hard away from Him, He chased me down, to make my acquaintance.

This time, when the Hurricane of Grief following my brother’s suicide came blowing in and flattened the house of my life, I didn’t blame God. I didn’t spend a long time writhing in anger at God. Only because I’d been there and done that and know how futile an exercise this is. He’s not really the one to blame. No, this time, I felt His calm, loving, steady presence next to me. Sitting with me. Crying with me. Aching with me. Never leaving my side.

This was not the life or the outcome he wanted for me, or my brother. He was just as hurt by my brother’s pain, and the pain that my brother’s choice is now bleeding onto my family and I.

He didn’t shy away from my rage or my cursing at my brother. He wasn’t disappointed or appalled at my reaction. He was there. Willing to sit and weep with me for as long as I needed, and ready to take each shaky step after the other, once I got back up again. He isn’t bothered by my lengthy timeline of grieving.

He is there, to show me each thing I need to see as I moved forward in healing – like how I had built a false sense of security on my brother’s protection and presence for starters. My house upon sand. But not one time do these revelations come with condemnation or rebuke. They come with grace and patience. He was, and is, always, only a kind and loving companion. Solid. Firm. Unwavering in his commitment.

Kind of like a rock, I guess.

And a little song I know tells me rock is a good foundation to pick for building your life-house upon.

It’s Got to Be Like Planning a Party, Right?

Confetti, Hope and 3/16

My mom plopped down across from me in the nursery looking hurried and determined as she readied to leave my house. She and my Dad had stayed with us three of the four weeks since my son was born, but today they were rushing back home. It had been less than 12 hours since the phone call that changed our lives. They were trying to beat the news back to my Grandmother – my Memaw – so she could hear about the death of her only grandson from them instead of Channel 12.

They didn’t make it, by the way. The story broke before they could drive the three hours to their house in Southern Kentucky.

“I don’t want a funeral, I want a celebration of life,” She said, “And I want you to do it.”

“Oh! Ok.” I responded, not knowing what else to say, but certain I would do whatever she needed of me in that moment. I had never planned or preached a funeral before, but I had done plenty of public speaking and I reasoned, it’s got to be like planning a party, right? “I’ll figure it out.”

My sister-in-law, Susie, said I was in survival mode. The way I didn’t react at all and could just go about normal duties like my entire world hadn’t just been flipped upside down.

Turns out, it happens often after the loss of a loved one. A normal part of grief. Your mind isn’t able to process the traumatic event, so it shifts into hyper-efficiency as you plan details and arrangements, share the news with relatives, and go about your day-to-day. Once the flourish of activity ends, the numbing and coping mechanism stops and reality sets in. Most of the time.

“And, I want you to read his letter.” she added.

“Oh.” I looked pointedly at my mom, “Are we…….saying it out loud? His letter doesn’t leave much to the imagination, so we are telling everyone he did it on purpose?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Her clipped reply caught me off-guard, but filled me with a strange pride. This was not a normal response in my family. We have been hiding things on behalf of my brother for most of my life.

Her final request was that we play the hymn, I’ll Fly Away.

In the following days as I prepared, I prayed God would give me the right words to say and that I would be able to deliver them without my voice shaking on that day.

3.16.21

It would be two weeks before we received my brother’s ashes – there was some back and forth with evidence and autopsies and processing time, etc. Once they were ready, the crematorium in Arizona shipped them – like, FedEx, I’m not kidding – and they ended up getting delayed at a depot, missing the delivery window for the service.

My brother was literally late to his own funeral, which was on par for him. We made a joke of it that day.

His remains would be buried in a second-hand gravesite that had belonged to my Memaw’s family. The cemetery is only one lot over from her house. We walk over there once a year on Memorial Day to put flowers on my Great-Grandparents grave. (They didn’t serve in the military, it’s just tradition in those parts.) I grew up playing in that cemetery anytime we would visit my Memaw and Grandad, riding my bike or running laps around the circular drive. My Memaw already has her headstone fixed on her plot – even though she’s very much alive – and now my brother’s body would be tucked in the earth right beside hers.

My mom requested the event be small – immediate family, and John’s girlfriend, only. There was confetti and balloons, music and singing (I found the Etta James version of I’ll Fly Away), a little crying, and fake, press-on mustaches. (That’s a story for another day.)

The pastor from my parents’ church and I co-led the service. This was my message:

“My brother committed suicide” is not something I ever wanted to be a part of my story. Neither was getting divorced.

But what I’ve learned in the last decade and a half is that God can take the broken, unwanted parts of our story and use them anyway, if we let Him. For our good and His glory.

He even promised it right in His Word through the apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans: He causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

I’ve learned if we share the vulnerable parts of our story out loud, we give other people who are hurting and broken permission to share theirs as well.

It makes them feel less alone.

So that’s what we’re doing today. We are saying the TRUTH out loud so that we can begin to process and heal together. And bringing the truth to light so it cannot stay hidden to fester in the dark.

It’s our secrets that keep us sick. And we want to be healthy and whole and free from the bondage of secrecy.

….

My husband recently pointed out that in just a couple weeks, it will be Sammy’s first Easter. But it will also be our first Easter without John.

I cried when he said that. I hadn’t thought of it yet. I am heartbroken and even angry that now these special moments of joy will be forever entwined with sorrow. Marred. Tainted.

Easter, or, “Resurrection Sunday”, as my brother would call it, has always been a big holiday for my family. We celebrate right here in Somerset every year.

It’s dripping in tradition for us.

We always buy new Easter outfits – most often complete with hats – and wear them to church. We sing hymns about the cross and the blood and Jesus’s triumphant resurrection. We take communion. We hunt eggs in the church yard afterward. We take pictures on Memaw’s back deck. We eat a big lunch and spend the day together, if not the whole weekend.

In recent years, we have played cards for hours, as that’s become our family’s most beloved pastime.

For half of my life, that’s all Easter was for me. A day of religious and familial tradition.

But the last decade or so, I have started studying and meditating on the meaning and significance of Easter and Holy Week.

Easter is earmarked by many themes and symbols: Love, Sacrifice, Blood, Redemption, Forgiveness, Grace, Victory, Freedom, Covenants, the Cross and the Crown, the Lamb and the Lion….

But for me, the strongest resounding theme of the whole holiday (at least this year) is: Hope.

Easter represents the Hope of the Promise for reunion.

After the fall of man in the Garden of Eden, God vowed to make a Way to be reunited with His beloved creation, humans. He set a Plan in motion, a Plan that culminated thousands of years later with the Roman crucifixion of His Son on that old rugged cross.

That Friday, as the sun went dark, all of Israel, all of Jesus’s followers, and all of Heaven (except the Father himself) were hopeless.

If that’s where the story had ended, we too, would be hopeless. Our bodies would die and that would also be our end.

But we all know that three days later, Jesus walked out of Hell and out of His grave, and God’s Plan was completed. His Promise was fulfilled.

And because we have accepted that promise as our own, we now live with the Hope of life after death. And an eternity of union and fellowship with our Father.

And because we know John was also in on that Promise, we get to live with the Hope of being reunited with him again one day as well.

So today, we are celebrating the time we had with him here and the Promise of an eternity of laughter and joy and adventure with him there.

We can rejoice, like John’s letter asked us to.

Miraculously, my voice didn’t quiver one time.

Afterward, we walked back to my Memaw’s house and had lunch on the back deck. We ate fried chicken and lingered in the warmth of the sun and family.

The next week I journaled,

On March 16^th, 2021, we celebrated my brother’s life. The 40 years, 6 months, and 10 days we had with him here on earth.

We celebrated the fact that we know where he is, and that we will get to see him again one day.

The day was perfect and beautiful and Holy in a way that only God could orchestrate. (71 and sunny in mid-March!)

Only after-the-fact did my cousin Kara point out that the celebration was on 3.16.

The 16th verse in the third chapter of the book of {JOHN} is one of the most well-known and well-quoted Bible verses in history. It is the first that most children are taught to memorize in Sunday School. You can probably call it to mind and rattle it off right now without much thought.

It’s the core of the Christian belief system and THE reason we will be reunited with my brother in Heaven.

“For God so loved the world that He gave his only son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

Amen. Selah.

See you when we get there, brother.

***

This post is part 3 in a series that starts with: http://racheldawnwrites.com/blog/reads-like-fiction/

Sabbatical

About 18 months ago, I was in a meeting with a client in Miami when the woman I was meeting with pulled a second person in the room. She announced she was leaving the company in two weeks, and this was her replacement. This was not entirely uncommon, but what happened next was.

I asked her what she was going to do, “Are you staying in the industry?”

“No,” she said, “I’m going back home (some country in South America) to take a sabbatical. I’m going to spend time with family and take time to figure out what I want to do.”

I started crying. Right there, in the middle of her office.

Her words were like a salve to my soul. That was exactly what I wanted. The only problem was, there’s no such thing as sabbaticals in Corporate America. You can’t just take months off of work to figure out what you want to do with your life. There are bills to pay and adult responsibilities to fulfill.

But this woman’s plan was like a refreshing oasis in the middle of my desert wilderness of exhaustion. I couldn’t stop thinking about her words, or the peaceful calm on her face when she said them.

I cried because I wanted to be that brave. I wanted to give myself that kind of time and space for my soul to breathe and my head to think clearly again. I wanted a sabbatical too. But that wasn’t realistic for me at the time.

There’s a song on the radio right now with the lyrics,

He makes a way where there ain’t no way,

let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus.

Ready?

Monday morning, May 2nd, 2022, I was a nervous wreck. The weekend prior, my husband and I had decided I would ask my company for some time off and a new position when I returned. With a knotted stomach and sweaty hands, I emailed my boss to ask if he had time for a call.

Once we connected, I told him everything that I had been wrestling with the last eight months. All my indecision, doubt, fears, uncertainty about what God was asking me to do. Travel or stay home? Work part time or full-time? Or, should I leave the workforce all together and “just” be a mom? What if I did that and hated it? How would I come back?

My company had already been SO gracious to me after my brother’s death, which happened in the middle of my maternity leave. They had given me additional time off for bereavement, and then more time again once I had been back to work a few months, when I was overwhelmed getting everything in order with my brother’s possessions and estate. And now I was asking for even more.

I couldn’t even verbalize what I needed because my head was so overloaded and scrambled I didn’t even know myself! I just knew SOMETHING had to give.

“Look,” I said, “I know there’s no such thing as sabbaticals in corporate America, but that’s what I’m asking for. I want a significant chunk of time off – like three months – so I can even have the time and space to breathe and think a clear thought about what my next steps should be. Basically, I want to take the Summer off.”

My boss said many empathetic and reassuring things to me that day. He was an absolute gem about the whole thing – a part I attribute to God. But the last words he said to me were, “As far as I know, we don’t have a sabbatical program (how he said that without laughing I’ll never know), what I imagine will happen is you will be separated on good terms and can come back anytime you’re ready, but hey, check with HR, they have more knowledge about what we can and can’t do than I do.”

My next phone call was to HR. I relayed the whole scenario and conversation with my boss. And when I was done, I kid you not, that woman opened her mouth and said, “Actually, we do have an administrative leave program. It’s kind of like a medical leave of absence, except with that you need a doctor’s note, with this, you just need your managers to sign off, which it sounds like they already have. And it lasts up to 12 weeks.”

Twelve weeks. Three months.

I was getting my sabbatical. I was going to get to take the Summer off to spend with my son and hear from God.

What. In. the. Actual. Was. Happening?

Sparing all the side-stories and details, suffice it to say, God’s provision went so far over and above what I could even imagine during this time. It was one blessing after another. More and more and more abundant overflow of His goodness than I would have ever asked for.

It was honestly bananas.

The one story I want to tell you about is this: The week that I called my boss – the VERY week – my husband got a phone call from a prospective client to do his largest project to date. If he won the job, it would net as much as his entire previous year’s income combined. And then, he got another call like that. And another. Three calls, in one week. Each would individually exceed the last year’s income. He ended up winning two of the three projects.

It’s been a year now, and the calls haven’t stopped coming.

What I didn’t know when I worked my last day on Friday, June 3rd, was that I wouldn’t go back to work at all.

My Summer never ended.

On Death, Loss and Resurrection

Easter looked different for us this year.

I hesitated to even post this picture because it is so shockingly deceiving.

What you see is the smiling faces that have posed on this same back deck for the last 20+ years.

What you don’t see is the pain, the heaviness, and the deep, deep grief that is carried behind each of those smiles.

At first glance, you might notice my brother is missing. Not uncommon, as there were years in the past he was “too busy” to come to Easter. But, my brother died two years ago, so, of course, he will never be in another Easter photo again. That’s an image I’ve already come to grips with.

What you can’t see through the pixels on this screen is that my Father is also missing.

He is there – physically present – with the same, iconic smile he’s worn his entire life, but my Daddy – his unique personality and identity – left us, realistically, last Fall.

Six, or so, years ago he was diagnosed with some form of Dementia. His mother died from Alzheimers in her 80’s, and his older brother is nearing the end of his battle with the horrid disease presently.

My dad’s progression has been slow. So slow that if you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t even have known anything was off. A missed word here or there, a little fogginess on details… Until last Summer.

Within weeks of one another, two events back-to-back effectively stole my father from us.

First, he fell at our house and broke his foot. A minor break that only required wearing a boot for six weeks. And, simultaneously, his doctor told my mother that he could stop taking one of his memory medications as it had “been as effective as it could” to that point.

Within two weeks of those two events, it was like a light switch was turned off in my Father’s brain.

Daylight and dark.

One day he was there and the next he was not.

He went from being able to keep up well enough in a game of Canasta (a strategy-based card game we played as a family) to not being able to dress or groom himself in the correct manner.

He hasn’t shaved in months. And his body looks weak and emaciated. He is unsteady when he walks or sits and rises.

It happens all the time. A common earmark of dementia is fall-injury-decline. The way I understand it, the person’s body diverts all of its energy and resources to the site of the new injury/trauma that it has nothing left to support the preexisting, chronic cognitive trauma. So a significant regression occurs.

I haven’t posted anything on social media about my Father’s diagnosis because, until this Fall, he was still; regularly checking his own Facebook account. And, we are none of us, certain how aware or unaware my father is about his disease and progression. I didn’t want him reading something about himself he may not have even realized yet.

In October, my mom told me my dad was talking in his sleep. She heard him say, “I wonder what I’ll be like six months from now.” It was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard. But, it let’s me know that he’s aware on some level, some of the time.

And also, I have felt almost like not saying it out loud might keep it from being real. Or permanent.

But at this point, my father can’t even use a TV remote without my mother’s assistance.

And as much as I want to pretend this image is the same as all the others we’ve snapped, I also don’t want to be living in – or portraying – a false reality.

Following the second anniversary of my brother’s death in February. I called my mom and told her I was having a strong need for familial/holiday traditions. Things will never look the same again, because a literal quarter of our family is missing, but I am needing to establish new rhythms and traditions for my son and my own healing.

Because of that, on Easter morning, we got up and went to my parents’ small country church – alone. I have never once in my life attended church on Easter without my parents.

They haven’t been able to attend for months due to my father’s physical limitations. My heart breaks over this, as their church was always their strongest form of community and identity.

I read their names in the bulletin on the prayer list under “shut ins”, and felt like I was being punched in the gut. Men “Amen’d” when the Hymns ended, and my eyes stung with tears at the absence of my father’s voice in that chorus.

Samson got to hunt eggs after the service, and we took some sweet family photos in our color-coordinated outfits. Which was one of the parts I needed most, as trivial as that is.

And when we got home, my mom had my dad all dressed up and groomed. The first time I’d seen him that way in months. All so we could snap this photograph. And because that’s what I needed.

Because grief is hard. And we are all drowning in it together. And just trying to hold on to each other in the waves as best we can.

We visited my brother’s grave Sunday afternoon and planted some Easter lilies there. It was the flower my brother brought to my mother every year on the holiday.

My brother’s funeral was two weeks before Easter in 2021. At it, I preached a message on Resurrection and the promise we have to be reunited with my brother again one day. It seems bitterly unfair that just two years later we are grappling with another loss as monumental to our family, but the promise is still the same.

The hard part, of course, is the living without them between now and then.

******

Footnote: I know this blog post is so very different than what you are used to reading here. And maybe not what you signed up for. Me either. Be aware, as I move forward through my grief journey, I will be posting more about it here. If that’s not what you want or need in your inbox right now, I totally understand, and will not be offended if we break up.

I want you to know you are still loved, you are never alone, and your – and my – story is so far from over. You keep telling yours and I’ll be here telling mine.

Two Weeks Ago, I Googled Myself

When the devil whispers a lie to you, it’s not random. It’s intentional. Deliberate.
It’s the exact opposite of the Truth. The specific Truth he is trying to discredit in your life.
It gives you a little insight into his playbook.

Two weeks ago, I googled myself.

It wasn’t out of arrogance, I promise, rather shear curiosity. Barry (my husband) and I were driving around town when he told me about a DJ friend of his from college, “He moved to L.A. and is like a real life, big time DJ. You can google him!”

So naturally I thought, I wonder what happens when you google “Author Rachel Dawn”? So I did. To my surprise, the results were stacked! Google returned my bio, my author page on amazon, my tv interview, youtube clips, my website, my blog… like I was a real life, big time author!

Then it occurred to me that google results are tailored to individuals based on their search and web history, I told myself, this has to be biased. So I tried it from Barry’s phone and asked 3 or 4 of my closest friends to google me and screenshot their results. They all had virtually the same content I saw, but in a different order; some looked more impressive than others.

Later that night, in a back-and-forth text exchange with my sister I told her my results had been “crazy” and made me look “totally legit”. To which she simply replied, “You are legit.”

And then I bawled my eyes out at 1:30 in the morning as I typed out a page long reply to her.

You see, what I feel is the furthest thing from legit.

Some days, I feel like a total fraud.

There’s actually a term for this, it’s called Imposter Syndrome.

Wikipedia defines imposter syndrome as: a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments, and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud”.

And a Fast Company article states: The phenomenon reflects a belief that you’re an inadequate and incompetent failure, despite evidence that indicates you’re skilled and quite successful.

Just two days earlier, while in for my weekly appointment, my book came up in discussion with my chiropractor for the first time. Like any genuinely interested person, he asked a few questions, and then came the one question I had been praying wouldn’t come of his mouth, “Are sales going well?”

You guys… It.got.so.weird.

All my confidence was sucked right out from inside me. Immediately my shoulders drooped and I couldn’t look him in the eye. I was so self-conscious thinking about the number of copies sold in my head. My voice trailed off as I rambled on about how reality had not lived up to my expectations for numbers blah blah blah… and I changed the subject as quickly as possible.

I was most embarrassed at my own reaction.

And when that text from my sister came in, the realization of why I felt that way hit me.

I wrote to her: I don’t know when it’s supposed to feel like you “made it” in this [book] world, this segment. But lately I’ve noticed my confidence has been lacking and I think it’s because I feel like I’m just failing. Like I should be way further along. The further away I get from my release date, the more of a failure I feel. But I don’t even know at what point I would stop feeling that. This is the first time I’ve even been able to put those thoughts together in words.

Maybe you have felt like this before? You thought with this degree or that job, you’d be making more money. At this company, you’d be further up the ranks. By this age or with all the work you’ve put in, you’d have more, be more, feel more satisfied…

Compound that with social media feeds parading in front of you the people who started at the same place at the same time, but appear further along and totally fine. Ugh.

She responded with precisely the words I needed to hear, but still struggled to believe:

You know those are lies being whispered to you. You’re successful because of the lives you’ve touched, not the number of books sold. I’m sure you would have written that book just to help a single person, but instead, you’ve helped hundreds…so far, and more to come.

Not many people can say that.

You’re one of the most confident people I know, don’t let the devil steal that God-given trait from you. Maybe the plan is to kill, steal and destroy your confidence so that you won’t keep going, so that you won’t write another book?!

You’re only 33 and you wrote and have published a book. That’s successful.

Everything I’ve ever been taught about success is to set tangible, concrete goals. It’s not enough to just want to “write a book”, you have to set a deadline, and concrete numbers for sales, so you can measure your accomplishment. But so far, that method had only served to send me on an emotional rollercoaster in this endeavor. My expectation was to have sold this many copies during launch week, not almost 2 years later.

I prayed to God that night: tell me what I should be believing for. Should I have a goal with a number attached to it? Or not? Why was this bothering me so much? I asked Him to reveal the depth of what was really going on.

At Least I’m Not Alone

Over the next few days as I marinated on the exchange, I was reminded of a story I heard at the She Speaks conference in 2016. During a workshop titled, Marketing Do-Over: Secrets I Wish I Had Known, Before My First Book Launched, Courtney DeFeo recounted a similar meltdown.

Some time after her book launched, Courtney called her mentor (Lysa Terkeurst) crying hysterically about the [lack of] number of copies she had sold. She expected it to be many more by then. She expected to be further along. And she felt like everything she had done had been wasted effort. She questioned if she really supposed to do this? She wanted to give up. Then, they had this exchange:

Lysa calmly asked her, “Did God ask you to write the book?”

“Yes.”

“Are people being impacted?”

What?

“Do you get letters/emails from people telling you how your book is impacting them?”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s all that matters. Numbers are not the key indicators of your success. Changed lives are.”

I was thankful to have heard that story even before I needed it so I knew I wasn’t alone. But that still didn’t mean I knew how to stop feeling this way or what to do with these feelings.

Subterfuge

What shocked me the most about my early morning meltdown was the fact that I hadn’t realized it was happening.

“Subterfuge” was the word I kept picturing in my imagination. If our minds are the battlefield of our lives (and I believe they are), the enemy had been playing a long, slow game of Guerilla Warfare to which I had been utterly oblivious. I wondered just how long those thoughts had been planted, germinated, and able to take root?

A few days later I was retelling the 1:30-am-text-exchange-breakdown-story to my friend

When the Devil(1)

TaLarrya and in the way that only she can, she listened and then responded, “Ok, so you know that is a lie. So, what truth is the enemy trying to shake your confidence in, that God wants to affirm in you? The two are probably related.”

I’m thankful for friends I can be totally vulnerable with, who can speak Truth back to me in exactly the way I need it.

In that moment, it was like the enemy’s playbook was thrown open in front of my eyes.

When she walked away, I took out my phone and jotted a quick note for myself: What’s the opposite of failure, of “I should be further along than I am right now.”?

I believe there are still many truths God will continue to whisper to me about this, but right away what I heard was, I’m exactly where God wants me, right now.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, I’m supposed to be in this exact this place, at this stage, for this moment, in this season, with this number of books sold.

I don’t know what all of His plans for my future as an author and public speaker look like, how high He will elevate me, what reach and impact He will allow me to have, but He has promised that He does:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

My job is to rest in the trusting of that truth. And to do the next thing He puts in front of me.

Resting & Trusting keep popping up as recurring themes in my life this year…looks like I still have a lot to learn about them both.

Would All the Real Martha’s Please Stand Up?

martha cover My friend Katie Reid just finished her book, “Made Like Martha: Good News for the Woman Who Gets Things Done” and invited me to be on the launch team. I eagerly jumped at the chance – not just to help create buzz for my friend and her release in July, but a little selfishly, because the book sounds like it was written just for me.

There’s a story in the Bible, in the book of Luke, about two women, sisters – one’s named Mary and one is Martha – who have an encounter with Jesus. Martha invites him to their house for dinner, but spends the whole time doing things for her guest, while Mary shirks the work and just sits with their guest, enjoying his company. In the story, Mary is clearly heralded as the “good sister” while Martha is recorded as having her priorities out of order.

Ouch.

Here’s the problem: I’m Martha.

Double ouch.

In fact, if I had written the book, I would have subtitled it, “Good News for the Woman Who Handles Sh*t”, but Katie is a better Christian than I am. 😊

Indeed, those words have come out of my mouth more than once. Around Christmastime, I verbatim told my husband, during a tiff about dinner reservations, “I don’t want to be the one who always has to handle sh*t!!” in a moment of vulnerability and irritation.

“Has to handle” is a subjective term, of course. As the reason I’m usually “handling things” on my own is because I arrogantly feel no one will handle them better than me, or it’s more hassle to have to explain it or wait on someone else to do it, so I just do it myself.

Plus, getting sh*t done – especially good things, like things for God and for my purpose – makes me feel really, really good about myself. It’s how I measure my days and weeks and months as successes or failures. If I don’t do all the things God put me here on earth to do while I’m here, then what was even the point? Amiright?

->Please tell me I’m not alone in all of these things I’m saying out loud? <-

Over the last year, God has taken me on quite a journey of learning to let Him handle things, instead of handling them myself.

Which, turns out, is a matter of Trust, or lack thereof, in my case. Which is not something I realized I had a problem with.

That is, until He was asking me to let Him handle things I really wanted to handle on my own. Things I knew I could handle well. Better than anyone.

Even Him.

Yowza.

I didn’t say that out loud. But my actions, and my reluctance to relinquish control, were only shouting that message to Him.

I have found I’m really good at putting something in God’s hands to handle until the next time it comes to mind and then I’m like, yeah God, let me go ahead and have that back, mmkthanks.

I haven’t breached the first chapter of the book yet, but I am hoping it is going to give me permission to live in my strengths as a Martha and feel justified in doing so. But I have a sneaking suspicion it’s going to echo all the things God has been whispering into my heart and my life over the last twelve months:

“Stop.

Stop Trying.

Striving.

Pushing.

Figuring.

Planning.

Doing.

Controlling.

Handling.

….And Rest.

Trust.

Relax.

Sit Still.

Just be.

And let Me handle it.”

I’m sure I’ll be highlighting, sharing, snapping, posting and instagramming all the words as I make my way through it. I hope you’ll stay with me on this journey as I do. Maybe you and I both will learn a thing or two about who we were created to be.

martha story

You can also get more info and pre-order Katie’s book HERE.
#madelikemartha

Catch Me Up: Permission to Be Imperfect

You know what my favorite feature in the Bible App is?

It’s the “catch me up” button.

Screenshot_20180303-174308

When I open the app and see I’m 5 days behind on a reading plan, it can be really discouraging. It’s easy for me to start spiraling into shame and guilt. I start to feel like I’m not doing enough spiritually, like I’m not a “good enough” Christian.

And that can pretty quickly snowball into to overwhelm. I start thinking about all the things in my life I’m behind on, that I’m not doing “well enough” in.

But one tap of the gear icon and “catch me up” shifts the dates of the plan forward so suddenly I’m back on track.

It sounds silly, but I instantly feel lighter!

I used to think using that feature would be like cheating. I wanted a visual reminder that I wasn’t being diligent enough in my quiet time and needed to step up my habit.

But I think I’ve realized that was the spirit of legalism and religion talking – wanting to keep me in bondage. See, religion is oppressive…. It’s like slavery.

And that’s exactly what Jesus came to set me free from.

Let me explain:

2000 years ago when Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth, anyone who was following God at the time was doing it under the strict religious code called the “Jewish Law”. There were rules about literally EVERYTHING: what they could eat, what they could wear, where they could go, who they could hang out with… Even when and where they could pray, how often they should do it, how long they should feel bad for doing something wrong and how to make up for a mistake (with sacrifices or other punishments).

Their entire experience with God was militant and regimented; there was nothing personal or intimate or fluid about it at all.

(I lived that type of religious experience for most of my life.)

But as Jesus traveled and talked to crowds and close friends, He talked about a new way to live. He told people they were free to be free from those rules and regulations, and free to just be in relationship with His Father – without all the rigmarole.

In fact, the first Christians weren’t a part of what is known as Christianity today, their lifestyle practice was simply referred to as “The Way”.

It was a completely counter-cultural way of living. Literally the exact opposite of what the religious leaders of that day were teaching people.

I’ve been studying the letters that Saul of Tarsus, later renamed the Apostle Paul, wrote to the early church. I am finding it fascinating how he warned these people – even then – about reverting back to their religious customs. The rules and laws that are all about making you feel you are “doing good”.

In several letters, he writes about not continuing to do things for the sake of tradition or edict. But to be led by the Spirit instead. He explains that the Spirit was a gift Jesus left behind for us, so that we could be free from the old laws.

“It is for freedom that Christ set us free. Stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by the yoke of slavery.” – Gal 5:1

Paul gives examples from his own life; how he is free to do things which would be considered against the religious law (like eat certain kinds of foods) because he is now free from those restrictions.

The crux of the issue is this: as long as we feel we are doing all the right things and following the rules, we don’t need saving, we don’t need God. We are doing things for Him, but not doing life with Him, which is what He really wants.

But, when we live being led by His Spirit in what we should do, and how we should live, that creates a daily dependence in us. Quickly we realize, if left to ourselves, we would do all the wrong things (and sometimes we still do anyway), and that we are in desperate need of saving.

And here’s the thing, the religious law says, you must read your Bible (devo) every day, and when you miss a day, shame on you. Now, go wallow around feeling pitiful and worthless and filthy. You’re not a good person, and it’s better for other people for you not to be around them.

But The Way says, just hit the “catch me up” button. Forget about what you did or didn’t do yesterday. Today is a new day, let’s walk forward together.

And if you mess up again tomorrow, the catch me up button is waiting for you the day after that. 🙂

You know in the app there’s no limit to how many times you can use that button?

It has taken me 4 months to get through a 40 day plan before.

And that’s totally ok.

Jesus gave me permission to stop beating myself up for it. He is giving you the same permission today.

Stop trying to earn what He literally died to give you. Freedom from guilt, shame and bondage is ours for the taking. And sometimes, it’s hiding right under the gear icon on our smartphones!

Check out what else Paul said:
“This same Good News that came to you is going out all over the world. It is bearing fruit everywhere by changing lives, just as it changed your lives from the day you first heard and understood the truth about God’s wonderful grace.” Colossians 1:6 NLT
Translation: Tell your friends!

Ps, If you’re not already using the YouVersion Bible App on your phone, what are you waiting for?! It’s incredible!

Here are some of my favorite plans:
God’s Dream for Your Life, Rick Warren
The Invisible War, Rick Warren
Relaxing With God, Andrew Farley
Starting Your Day Right, Joyce Meyer
One: A Marriage Devotional, Jimmy Evans
From this Day Forward, Craig & Amy Groeschel
Crash the Chatterbox, Steve Furtick
Visioneering, Andy Stanley
The Lies Couples Believe, Chris Thurman
Hearing from God Each Morning, Joyce Meyer
The Lies We Believe About God, Chris Thurman
Goliath Must Fall, Louie Giglio
Marriage Is Hard, Time of Grace Ministries
Fighting for My Marriage, XXX Church

Are You There God? It’s Me Rachel

“Tell them to go home and flourish in their planting, in the place where I have planted them, and if they do, they’ll change the world.” – Bobbie Houston

It was a sweltering Friday in July, but I was inside. I was sitting just outside of a hotel meeting room door anxiously waiting for my name to be called.

It was my first writer’s conference and I had scored one of the few, coveted appointment slots with a publisher; during which I would pitch my book in hopes they would offer me a contract.

I sat quietly, legs crossed at the ankles, my hands in my lap resting on top of the three ring binder that held the hole-punched pages of my lifelong dream.

Months leading up to this pinnacle moment, God and I had gone round and round in conversation about whether or not I would self-publish or traditionally publish my manuscript. I was fine with either, of course, I just needed to know which route to take. After all, this was His project and I was just along for the ride.

Once I secured one of the publisher appointments, I thought that was God’s unquestionable confirmation that I was going to traditionally publish. He had opened the door and was making a way.

I started to gather my things when I heard my name but then came another voice, “Rachel? …From Cincinnati?”

I answered yes.

A petite, middle-aged brunette from Oklahoma stood beside me, with an expectant smile and a fire in her eyes, “I need to talk to you,” she said, “I’ve been looking for you all day. I knew I was going to run into you! Let’s talk after your appointment.”

I went into my appointment puzzled and intrigued, trying to figure out how this person could know about me. I concluded that she must have seen me speak somewhere and put two and two together.

But any thoughts about the interaction quickly left my mind as I sat down across the table from this bearer of life-changing conversation.

The publishing agent and I exchanged formalities and cards. I talked, she asked questions, I talked some more. I was prepared to hand her copies of my book proposal and one-pager like I had been instructed to do (and spent days of hours preparing).

And then she proceeded to tell me that there was no need, they would not be moving forward in publishing my book, because….well, I didn’t need them.

“Everything we would do for you, you have already done and invested in for yourself,” She said, “You have the gumption to go out and do all these things and make it happen. Most authors don’t. And that’s where we come into play. So, you don’t need us.”

While that certainly wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, it was oddly flattering. But I left the room more confused than ever, God, why would you set up this appointment for me if this wasn’t how you were planning to get my book into the world?

I was about to find out exactly why.

Upon reentering the corridor, my new friend was waiting for me. We found a quiet corner to chat and she proceeded to blow my mind with the crazy goodness of God.

The night before she had gone into the prayer room that the conference staff had set up and found a piece of paper rolled up with a prayer written by, “Rachel in Cincinnati.”

I also visited the prayer room that day. I had just walked out of a pre-conference session on marketing and my head was swimming thinking about branding and logos and taglines and email lists (UGH! Email lists!! I can’t stand being on them, the last thing I wanted to do was start one!). I darted straight into that quiet, candle-lit space and spent my time on the floor, bawling my eyes out, talking to God about all the things that were overwhelming me.

I was trying to get my book out, but being told I needed to be growing a speaking platform to be successful. I felt like I had too much on my plate already and here He was, trying to add more. I felt like I didn’t have time for everything, or anything. I felt like I was already neglecting Barry enough. In short, I hadn’t even started on the path He was calling me to and I already felt overwhelmed just looking at it!

As per the instructions, I left my prayer scroll in a basket from which the conference staff, or other attendees, could find and pray over/in agreement with.

Turns out, Gwen, this lady preacher from the Great Plains I was sitting across from, was the person who picked up my prayer. And as she was reading, God spoke to her very clearly about me; He told her something He wanted me to know. So she was confident He would arrange that the two of us would somehow run into each other. In this group of 800 women. In the next 48 hours before the conference ended.

As if the odds of that weren’t fantastic enough?!

She explained how she had come to the conference out of obedience to a prompting, and while she was enjoying it well enough, she felt like it wasn’t really for her. Once she read my prayer, she knew she was specifically there in North Carolina on a mission from God, for me.

…how do you respond to that other than weeping?

Understand, I was just coming out of a very long season wherein I felt God had been silent. (I blogged about it several times) I was just learning to hear from Him by reading His Word, but not audibly, or directly or as clearly as I used to. My unspoken attitude in my prayers had become, “Are you there God? It’s me Rachel.”

But this day, His voice was unmistakable; Here is what God said to me (through her):

“…You don’t have to work or stress or strain or worry about any of these things. I will open the doors for you. I will put you in the places I want you to speak. I will take care of everything else. Just go back to the last thing I told you to do.”

So she asked me, “What was the last thing God told you to do?”

“Tell my story. Write it down.”

“Then you get your book out. God will handle the rest. God will continue to bring people and resources you need to get it done, to get it out, like He already has been doing.

And don’t feel any guilt for walking away from, saying ‘no’ to, or ignoring all those other things you’re being told you ‘need’ to do.”

I honestly don’t remember if she also said the rest of this stuff I have written down, or if God just continued the conversation with me once I got alone by myself and my prayer journal:

“God will make all the connections you need and get you in all the doors you need without having to force anything.

Rest in His sweet reassurance of that.

Rest in His Power.

It’s His project. It’s His idea.”

And boy did He ever deliver on those promises!

God was the most incredible Chief Marketing Officer I could have ever hired to launch a book, and He is still putting in hours today.

It’s utterly absurd that I’ve been on radio and TV – an unknown, first-time author from small-town Kentucky?! Are you kidding me?

ONLY GOD could have opened those doors to me, only God can give me the favor of the decision makers and influencers in media outlets.

ONLY GOD could have arranged for industry experts to offer to help me with designs and websites and logos – FOR FREE.

ONLY GOD could have sent a little woman 1,200 miles to a room at a conference to pick up a scroll and obediently relay the Words He gave her for a complete stranger.

There are so many other small nuances and serendipities that He orchestrated in that season. It was marvelous and exhilarating to be a part of!

And it all happened one obedient step at a time. I just kept doing the next thing He was asking me to do, forgetting about the ten other things I might have to do in the future. And He took care of everything else.

The next time you wonder if He’s listening, if He cares, if He still works in real and tangible ways in our lives, on this earth today, remember this story and be encouraged. He is, He does. And He’s waiting to work in your life as soon as you ask!

This Sunday night, I’ll be telling ANOTHER story about a time I felt God was ignoring me for a whole year. I would love for you to join me as I stream LIVE in Facebook. Sunday, Aug 27th at 8pm. www.Facebook.com/RachelDawnWrites

I Love Jesus, But I Cuss A Little

i love jesus.jpg

The first time I saw that t-shirt I was offended. Like any good Christian girl should be.

And I immediately started judging the person on my facebook friends list who posted it. Of course she would post something like that. The recently-divorced single mom whose status updates were littered with F-bombs on the regular. She was a trainwreck, so it was natural a post like that would come from her.

(Nevermind the shirt was true about me; but I don’t cuss “as bad as her”, and I would never admit it outloud or gasp! post it on social media!)

I scrolled past the garment disgusted and with an eye roll, but that shirt stuck with me for a few weeks.

The next time I saw it posted by someone else in my newsfeed, the more intriguing to me it became.

I reprimanded myself for judging the first girl; I had no idea what she was dealing with.

Besides, I may not cuss “as bad as her”, but there are plenty of other things I get wrong – like condemning other people for things they post on Facebook….

The more I thought about the statement on the shirt I realized… who was I to judge anyone? No matter what came after their “but” in that sentence.

Because ALL of us have something after the “but”.

I finally decided I kind of liked that t-shirt. What a beautiful a picture of authenticity and grace!

What if we all wore a t-shirt like that? What would yours say?

I love Jesus but I….

“doubt a little.”

“fear a little.”

“gossip a little.”

“lie a little.”

“steal a little.”

“watch porn a little.”

“disrespect my husband a…….LOT.”

Mine would say something like, “I love Jesus but, I’m still a work in progress. Imperfect. Deeply flawed, even.”

“…But wildly in love with, and loved in return by, Him. Unconditionally.”

I already know what some of you are thinking, “So are you saying Christians can just go around doing whatever they want? Are you just giving people a license to sin?”

No. And you’re missing the point.

Though technically, yes, Christians can do whatever they want. Paul says so right in 1^st Corinthians 10:23, “Everything is permissible–but not everything is beneficial. Everything is permissible–but not everything is constructive.”

Jesus’ sacrifice and gift of Grace set us free from the Law. What I explain in this other blog post over here, is that Paul is saying is you can do anything you want, but not everything is going to make you happy, or satisfied, or peaceful, or prosperous. AND, your actions have consequences.

But, being a “good Christian” doesn’t have anything to do with following a set of rules. It is about following Him, in whatever way He leads you.

So I’m not just telling you to do whatever you want. I am telling you to stop worrying about other people’s “buts”.

I recently heard Joyce Meyer say, “We never have enough information to judge anyone. We might judge their sin or their wrong behavior, I can look at someone and say, according to the word of God, I think that behavior is wrong, but I can’t judge them. I can’t judge their heart. I don’t know where they came from, I don’t know what’s in their heart, I don’t know how much revelation knowledge they have, I don’t know what’s going on in their life… Maybe instead of judging them I should have compassion for them.”

Like Joyce admits about herself – at many points in my life, I would have made a wonderful Pharisee.

Our enemy LOVES to keep us bound by rules and religion, guilt and condemnation, not to mention, the fear of other people’s opinions and/or being consumed with concern over what other people are doing, that we never discover the freedom that comes in relationship with Christ.
Follow the Leader

For people like me, who are actively engaged in following Jesus, we are each individually responsible for growing and changing as God, in the form of the Holy Spirit, convicts us and guides us to.

One of the main jobs of the Holy Spirit once He comes to live inside you, is to help you become the fullest picture of who God created you to be. And, this is far from an overnight process.

One simultaneously freeing and frustrating thing I’ve learned is that the Holy Spirit convicts different people about different things at different times.

He works in each of us uniquely and individually. So for you, using “foul” language may very well be a sin, if you’re convicted that it is wrong for you. But for someone else who is not convicted, it may not be. Just like it’s perfectly fine for some Christians to have a glass of wine, but for others, it’s something the Spirit does not want them to partake in. This could apply to smoking, or watching tv, or any other myriad of things.

There are times I feel convicted about particular things even my husband does not, or vice versa. But I’m not his Holy Spirit and he is not mine.

In my experience, one of the places the Spirit will lead you is to God’s written word, wherein there are very clear instructions about how God wants us to live – not for rule-following’s sake – but so we can live the healthiest, happiest, most-fulfilling and purposeful experience on this earth. He literally left us a Guidebook for how to get the most out our time here and for the greatest eternal impact!

But there are a lot of things God doesn’t touch on in the Bible, or He isn’t specifically clear on. It’s up to the Holy Spirit to lead and guide us in those things. It’s our job be listening, watching, discerning, and obeying.

(Sidebar: It’s true that sometimes the Holy Spirit might use you or I to speak to one another about a particular subject, but anytime we feel this is occurring, I would caution us to check our motives, and check our tone. Ask ourselves carefully, are we trying to play Holy Spirit for someone else? And if the Spirit really is convicting us to speak Truth-in-Love to a fellow believer, what is the condition of our heart in this exchange? Full of condemnation or grace? …And that’s all I’m going to say about that right now.)

This process and journey is something we will be walking out the rest of our lives on this earth. You will never be perfect or flawless this side of heaven. Neither will I.

And it’s when I slip back into trying to veneer things – to pretend like I’ve got it all together – I feel furthest from God, and furthest from other people.

Feigning perfection severs connection.

When I was at my lowest – real and raw and vulnerable – that’s when God met me. He knew the mess He was getting. While the truth is, “He loved me too much to leave me the way He found me”. There are some things about me – the real, raw, unpolished me at my innermost core – that He has left alone. I think He kind of likes those things.

Do I need to work on my temper? Yes! But I think He admires how fired up I get when I see people being mistreated or, being hurt by injustice or even hurt by the church….

In fact, I think He may have put some of that stuff there on purpose.

I spent most of my life running from the real me or covering it up because it wasn’t “ladylike” or it wasn’t “Christian” enough.

I’m done with that. This is who I am. Where I am. For right now.

Could I change in the future? Oh I hope I do! I hope I never stop growing and becoming more and more like my friend named Jesus.

One day, He might even convict me to never let a curse word cross my lips again, but today is not that day.

Today, I feel like He is more concerned with me meeting people where they are – in that same deep, dark place I have been. Where they are cursing at and about God because they feel abandoned or betrayed by Him. They are edgy and raw and bitter…. and I can relate to them.

Right now I feel like that’s what they need from me most. To know they are not alone. To know they are not the only ones who love Jesus but are hurting, or doubting, or cussing…. The only ones who aren’t perfect. And to know He loves them even still despite those imperfections.

After I started writing this blog, I came across this passage in the New Testament. Turns out, Paul had some things to say about this very topic to the church in Corinth two thousand years ago. He talks about “becoming all things to all men”, so that he might relate to them:

To the Jews I became as a Jew, so that I might win Jews [for Christ]; to men under the Law, [I became] as one under the Law, though not being under the Law myself, so that I might win those who are under the Law. To those who are without (outside) the Law, [I became] as one without the Law, though [I am] not without the law of God, but under the law of Christ, so that I might win those who are without law. To the weak I became [as the] weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men, so that I may by all means [in any and every way] save some [by leading them to faith in Jesus Christ]. And I do all this for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings along with you. [1^st Corinthians 9:20-23 AMP]

Extra Reading

Paul also had some things to say about judging, criticizing and condemning other people (which I definitely know God wants me to keep working on):

Welcome with open arms fellow believers who don’t see things the way you do. And don’t jump all over them every time they do or say something you don’t agree with—even when it seems that they are strong on opinions but weak in the faith department. Remember, they have their own history to deal with. Treat them gently.

For instance, a person who has been around for a while might well be convinced that he can eat anything on the table, while another, with a different background, might assume he should only be a vegetarian and eat accordingly. But since both are guests at Christ’s table, wouldn’t it be terribly rude if they fell to criticizing what the other ate or didn’t eat? God, after all, invited them both to the table. Do you have any business crossing people off the guest list or interfering with God’s welcome? If there are corrections to be made or manners to be learned, God can handle that without your help.

Or, say, one person thinks that some days should be set aside as holy and another thinks that each day is pretty much like any other. There are good reasons either way. So, each person is free to follow the convictions of conscience.

None of us are permitted to insist on our own way in these matters. It’s God we are answerable to—all the way from life to death and everything in between—not each other. That’s why Jesus lived and died and then lived again: so that he could be our Master across the entire range of life and death, and free us from the petty tyrannies of each other.

So where does that leave you when you criticize a brother? And where does that leave you when you condescend to a sister? I’d say it leaves you looking pretty silly—or worse. Eventually, we’re all going to end up kneeling side by side in the place of judgment, facing God. Your critical and condescending ways aren’t going to improve your position there one bit.

So tend to your knitting. You’ve got your hands full just taking care of your own life before God.

Forget about deciding what’s right for each other. Here’s what you need to be concerned about: that you don’t get in the way of someone else, making life more difficult than it already is. I’m convinced—Jesus convinced me!—that everything as it is in itself is holy. We, of course, by the way we treat it or talk about it, can contaminate it.

… So let’s agree to use all our energy in getting along with each other. Help others with encouraging words; don’t drag them down by finding fault.

(Excerpt from Romans 14, MSG)

That’s good stuff right there.

I know this was a super long post, so I appreciate you sticking with me. In case you got lost, I’ll reiterate the key takeaways:

We all have something after our but.

Stop worrying about other people’s buts.

Your buts – and your heart – are between you and the Holy Spirit.

And finally, I love you, even if you slip an f-bomb everyone once in a while. Ps, so does Jesus! 😉
Here’s another great blog along these same lines that left me clapping and cheering when I read it about a year ago: http://faithit.com/f-bombs-and-bikinis-what-it-really-means-to-be-a-christian/

Unfinished: Waiting for What’s Next

“Not scared to say it, I used to be the one
Preachin’ it to you, that you could overcome
I still believe it, but it ain’t easy
‘Cause that world I painted, where things just all work out
It started changing and I started having doubts
And it got me so down…”

-Mandisa, Unfinished

Turns out Mandisa and I are practically the same person. Who knew?

Remember last month when I wrote to you about What to do with the Death of a Dream? It’s not that I was being disingenuous at that time, but I have a confession: The reason I felt compelled to share that message with you is because I am in a place where I am struggling with believing in my dreams right now. Those words I wrote to you were just as much a reminder to myself.

I don’t know at what point I stopped believing in my dreams. But it happened. And I didn’t even realize it had until I found myself crying into the pages of Mark Batterson’s Circle Maker, unable to bring myself to believe his words within.

Our enemy is sly, y’all.

I have found, in my life, the easiest places for him to attack me are in areas I have already overcome and told other people about, things I’ve even helped other people overcome in their own lives. Preachin it to them…

Because then he can plague me with these thoughts, Oh no! what if people find out I’m a hypocrite?! What if they find out I don’t have it all together, after I said I did?! I mean, I’m the girl who signs books, “your story isn’t over yet!”

That’s what Mandisa is talking about. I’m sure she had a lot of those same thoughts between her 2013 album “Overcomer” and her most recent, “Out of the Dark”, which includes the track above. The lyrics that come next in her song Unfinished, map a blueprint for us in this place:

“But I picked myself back up, I started tellin’ me,
‘No, my God’s not done, makin’ me a masterpiece’

He’s still working on me,

He started something good and I’m gonna believe it
He started something good and He’s gonna complete it.

So I celebrate the Truth: His work in me ain’t through
I’m just unfinished.”

Unfinished

Can I tell you something I’ve come to embrace – dearly – in this season of my life? My mentor, Jennifer Beckham, has been saying it for years, but I’m just starting to grasp it for myself, and it gives me permission to breathe: I’m still a work in progress.

Unfinished.

Which means I haven’t arrived. Even if I did write a book about coming out of one pit in my life, that doesn’t mean I’ll spend the rest of my life on a mountaintop.

And I have to stop beating myself up every time I feel like I take a step backward. (Can I get an amen?)

There is an interesting season after the realization of a dream or a pursuit, when it’s easy to feel lost and confused. An ok-what-do-I-do-next? season.

Subconsciously, I knew this before publishing my book. I think that’s why it took me two years to actually get it out after I wrote it…. some of that may have been deliberate procrastination.

I foresaw this line of thinking for myself: Ok, I have dedicated the last 2 ½ years of my life to this one thing, this one goal, this one mission. It gives me life and energy and focus. It allows me to walk every day on a clear path of obedience toward the mark God has called me. It’s me literally living in my purpose. And once it’s over, once the goal is accomplished, once the book is out and on the shelf, what do I do now? What will I do with my time and my life to feel significant and purposed?

What I didn’t foresee was how indescribably HARD these thoughts and emotions would hit me. And how hollow it would make me feel.

It’s only in writing this I called to mind a quote I heard years ago, “Never let a dream come true steal your dream.”

Meaning, don’t let accomplishing one thing keep you from accomplishing everything else God has created you for.

With each dream realized, you’ve got to set new dreams and goals for yourself. And I have not done that. At all.

(Sidenote: I acknowledge what I’m saying means I have been finding my significance in my work for God, rather than in my relationship with Him. A mindset I don’t think I understand how to transition out of yet. But that’s a whole other psychological and spiritual evaluation for another day.)

Dreams Do Come True

When I launched my book in November of last year, I was at an all-time high – it was the realization of a lifelong dream come true. I did not anticipate the series of emotional crashes that came next.

As I type this in retrospect, I think I see the dream-thieving pieces come together:

The month of my book launch, I expected to sell a certain number of copies and I came in at a fraction of that. I was devastated.

I sullenly reported the numbers to a friend in the industry and she told me my numbers were actually really great for a self-published author, which led me to doing some research. I found out most nonfiction books today – traditionally-published or self-published – never sell more than 3,000 copies in their lifetime. Usually no more than 300 in the first year.

So my numbers weren’t that bad after all, it was my expectations that were off. And I found solace in this fact at the time.

Looking back, that was exactly what my enemy wanted. For me to lower my expectations, and to keep lowering them. And keep lowering them. Until eventually, I didn’t expect much of anything above “average” for my future at all.

I had relegated myself to “this is just the way it is in the publishing world today” and I was “right on track” – with average.

YOU DREAMED BIG I have been anti-average my entire life. Repulsed by it even.

There is a delicate balance I surf between contentment and wanting more – feeling like God is calling me to more. But lately, it’s been just been discontentment and disbelief all around.

I find myself teetering on a ledge between believing for more, one more time, or just….settling.

It feels too hard and too painful to get my hopes up again; to stretch my faith and to see a vision beyond where I am now. It seems much easier to just settle for how far I’ve come.

You can settle at all different levels you know. There’s a temptation for it all your life, a pressure just to give in and give up hope. You can settle at $20,000 when it feels too hard to believe for $40,000, you can settle for $40,000 when it seems like $80,000 is out of reach, you can even settle at $100,000 or a million.

You can settle for 500 books sold when believing for 5,000 seems impossible. Which is the place I found myself.

So by the time I stumbled across Mark Batterson’s book, The Circle Maker, buried in an ebay sale pile of my mom’s, my belief and expectations were so low that the author’s words were a shocking wake-up call.

Inside, Batterson tells the backstory leading up to the launch of his first book, In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day. He writes about a faith-stretching financial commitment he made and how God came through on it BIG time:

A faith promise is an amount of money pledged to missions above and beyond the tithe. It’s not based on a budget; it’s based on faith. Honestly, we [my wife and I] had no idea how we’d be able to give the amount of money we pledged…

…On the day we made the pledge, July 31^st, 2005, I blogged what I believed: “I have a holy anticipation that I can’t even put into words. I can’t wait to see how God provides what we promised.” Two months later on October 4, 2005, I landed my first book contract. The advance on that four-book deal was THIRTY TIMES GREATER than the pledge we had made.

…I was thrilled about getting the book contract, but I was even more thrilled about writing the largest check we had ever written for a kingdom cause.

In December 2010, he signed another book contract, the gift he and his wife gave on that advance was THIRTY TIMES LARGER than the original faith promise they had made five years before!

What miraculous provision!!

I read more of the story: In the fall of 2006, a week before his first book was set to release, Batterson was speaking at a men’s conference when he asked for God’s blessing on the book. He writes:

I was painfully aware of the fact that 95% of books don’t sell five thousand copies, but I prayed a circle around the book and asked God to put a multiplication anointing on it. I mustered as much faith as I could and asked God to help it sell 25,000 copies. Of course I threw in the obligatory “if it be Your will” at the end. That tagline may sound spiritual, but it was less a submission to God’s will and more a profession of doubt. If you aren’t careful, the will of God can become a cop-out if things don’t turn out the way you want.

Reading that paragraph, hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I realized I couldn’t even begin to believe my book would sell 25,000 copies. The revelation was startling me. When had my dreams gotten so small? When had I lost my faith in the God who called me to write this book in the first place? When had I stopped trusting Him and His power?

“It’s easy to give up on your dreams, on miracles, on promises.
We lose heart, we lose patience, we lose faith. And like a slow leak, it often happens without us even knowing it…” – Mark Batterson

Reading those words, I felt like God was begging me to believe Him for such a miracle. To trust that He could to the same for me.

This is the same God who restores sight to the blind, who brings people back from the dead, who created the entire universe from His mouth and His hands. It should be easy for me to believe He can get a book into the right hands at the right time, enough times, right?

But I had settled for that cop-out Batterson referenced, with these nagging questions in my mind, Maybe it wasn’t God’s will for my book after all. Maybe I heard Him wrong. Maybe I should have waited for a publisher to pick it up, instead of being stubborn and forcing it to fruition myself. Maybe the timing was off. Maybe I didn’t launch it right…

Guys, can I tell you something? Following God, and following your dreams, is not easy.

I don’t have an answer to the question, “How do you know when it’s God or when it’s you in your own head?” Because I still ask myself that all.the.time.

All I can do is try to get it right each time, and trust that He will make it right even if I mess it up. Because I do know this: my heart is always in the right place of obedience, even if my ears aren’t always hearing crystal-clear.

I’m still a work in progress. Unfinished. He’s still working on me.

So that’s the place I rest in.

This week I thought to myself, I don’t even know how to dream anymore. Which made me cry all over again. And feel lost and hopeless.

Here’s what I’ve learned (over and over again), when I try to do things myself, I get exhausted and overwhelmed and it doesn’t turn out so well. But, when I ask God into the equation and rely on His help, I get to relax and it all works out.

So here’s the first step I took: I wrote to God in my prayer journal that He would have to teach me how to dream again. That He would have to show me a new dream. And show me if my old dreams, that are hard to believe in now, are things that were never from Him that I should let go of, or if that’s really what He wants for me.

And because my heart is rooted in obedience, I won’t take another step forward until I hear from Him.

So if you need me, I’ll be here, writing to you and waiting for what’s next.

Is there a dream that God wants to resurrect [in your life]? Is there some promise you need to reclaim? Is there some miracle you need to start believing for again?

The reason many of us give up too soon is because we feel like we failed if God doesn’t answer our prayer. The only way you can fail is if you stop praying.” – Mark Batterson