A Grief Observed

“Losing a beloved is an amputation.” – C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I once listened to a podcast in which a psychiatrist was talking about why it feels like we lose a part of ourselves when we lose a loved one.

He said that, unwittingly, we store information, memories and experiences in the brains of other people we are close to; like an external hard drive. Our own minds have limited capacity to keep all the data we need, so we share mental and emotional data resources with others.

We see this phenomenon to be particularly true when someone loses a spouse and has no idea what the bank password is, or what type of oil the car takes, or where the Tupperware is located in the cupboard… Those pieces of information were stored in the other person for easy access. Just as we store information for them as well.

We never expect to need to know those things ourselves because we expect the other person to always be there.

There was a specific piece, or version, of me that was reserved just for when my brother and I were together. We had a special bond our whole lives.

In his data bank I stored all our inside jokes, movie quotes, random road trips, family history, all the techie/internet answers I needed, car maintenance advice, and much more. He was a fixer, a finder, ever-resourceful. I knew certain things were only one text away if I needed them.

When I got the call that his body was found at the bottom of the canyon, it felt like a very tangible part was cut out of me. Like there’s an empty/missing place inside now.

Pictures and memories and stories will soften the sting I know, but that void will always be there, this side of Heaven.

And that’s just the way it is when we live in close relationship with others. When we love. It’s hard and it hurts, but it’s the cost of this benefit of the human existence.

***

In the weeks following my brother’s death, I listened to C.S. Lewis’ book, A Grief Observed. It was the first book of Lewis’ I ever read, actually. So different than what I imagined from the famed theologian, the book is a collection of his journals following the death of his beloved wife, Joy, opened wide for the world to see.

His pain is visceral. The deepest, rawest places of his soul on display. There are times he questions his faith and shouts at God. C.S. Lewis! It was the most relatable thing I’ve ever read.

By that point, I already had a running notepad in my phone, to which I added bits and pieces every day about all I was thinking and feeling. My own version of a grief journal. It was the only thing I could do at the time, while being physically attached to a newborn breastfeeding for eight hours a day.

The only thing that kept me from going lit-rally insane in that season was the fact I could get words and sentences out of my own soul and onto “paper”. In his book, Lewis stated, “What we work out in our journals, we don’t take out on our loved ones.” I think I was doing both, but I imagine it could have been a lot worse if I’d kept everything inside!

The excerpt at the beginning of this post is from this journal of mine on March 10th, 2021.

Some things I wrote and shared in real time on social media, but most of it, I kept tucked away. Some of it will only ever be for my own eyes, but some of it, I just wasn’t ready to share yet. I have been waiting for the right time and place – and headspace – to bring these words to light.

Mostly I think I had to wait to tell the story without being angry. Well, only angry. Which I was, for the longest time.

White-hot rage was the prominent emotion I could pinpoint after my brother decided to ride his motorcycle off the Grand Canyon. It took me a solid 12 months – and therapy – before I ever got to sad.

I was:
Angry that he made another selfish decision, in a long list of them.
Enraged by the timing – three weeks after I gave birth to my first son, when I needed my parents the most, when I needed it to be all about me.
Incensed he tainted this time that is supposed to be sweet and pure and full of joy.
Irate he would put my parents through that.
Livid he stole years of cognition with my father from me, from us, from my son. I knew the mental toll it would take on both of my parents – particularly my father, who was already diagnosed with Alzheimers, but whose symptoms were mild.
Furious about the fact that I would never get to be the same again – I would be forever altered by his choice.
Seething over the mess he left behind I had to clean up. That he made me an only child. That he abandoned me to struggle with aging parents and Dad’s diagnosis alone.
And on and on.

Even when I did experience moments or days of sadness, it would be overshadowed by my anger that his choice was the reason I had to feel that way.

The rage became its own entity within me. I finally made space for therapy when I was afraid of that rage, of who I was with it churning inside me.

People thought they knew my brother, thought they knew the story. They did not. The “public” didn’t even know it was suicide. My family and I told people we knew, who we’re close with, in one-on-one conversations, but that was it. And I wanted to tell the whole, stark-naked truth of what he had done to us over a loudspeaker.

But about 18 months after John’s death, God whispered a Truth to my heart. It was after I had told one more person the whole story. The one that I’m beginning to unfold here. Her reaction was exactly what I wanted: shock, solidarity, anger alongside me. But the bitterness and burning rage in me didn’t regress for even a minute. If anything, it was prodded and stoked hotter.

And God gently said to me, “You can tell as many people as you want, but it’s not going to make you feel better. Or more free. Relieved from the pain or frustration. It’s not going to make you feel justified.” It was like a veil was removed in my mind and my emotions.

My therapist once asked me what it would take for me to stop being angry at my brother. I listed: “An apology, reconciliation, changed behavior…” She pointed out that even if my brother was alive, I may never have gotten those things. But, since he’s dead, I sure as shit wasn’t getting them now. So I had to figure something else out.

God reminded me of this prior conversation while He was speaking to me then.

That very same weekend in the Fall of 2022, I was sitting in a conference when the speaker stopped the event to pray over a person/persons in the crowd who needed to “let go of something”. Her prayer was vivid, visual: She said [once you decided to let go], it would feel like fresh Spring air. Like when you open the windows of your house on the first warm, Spring day and let the fresh air blow the stale scent of Winter away.

I had been sitting in my stale house of rage for 18 months, but that day I opened the windows and let God breathe something new inside me. I felt a shift. The anger didn’t magically get better or go away overnight, but I felt lighter. Freer. More hopeful. That I could and would feel different moving forward.

It’s been another 18 months. The anger still comes in waves at times. But the waves are few and far between, they aren’t as high or as violent, and they pass back out to sea quickly. Mostly, I just feel an aching longing when I think of my brother now. I wish he weren’t gone. And at last, I feel a release in being able to tell his story. Our story.

It’s true, I don’t ever get to be the same person I was before he chose to end his life, but the person I am now has a depth of knowledge, experience, compassion, and empathy that I can use for myself and others.

I have found immeasurable comfort in being able to write all of this down over the last three years, but my prayer is that I can share it without triggering any of that old bitterness and rage. And that I can tell it in a way that is helpful to others who are also walking through an earth-shattering encounter with grief, and not just as a continued therapeutic exercise for myself.

I hope you stick with me on this journey. But I understand if this content isn’t for you right now. You are loved, and I will still be here sharing all of the #RealTalk if you need me in the future.

***

This post is part 4 in a series that starts with: http://racheldawnwrites.com/blog/reads-like-fiction/

The Call

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2021

It was just after 9pm when the call came. I was in the rocking chair in the nursery, breastfeeding my son. My husband, who had been fielding all of the phone calls for the last week – from investigators, and search parties, and the news reporters – was presently on a flight to Arizona, to join the search for my missing brother.

“Mrs. Neuberger?”

“Yes, this is her,” I answered in a low voice, not wanting to involve my newborn in what was likely to be a life-altering conversation.

She chose her next words carefully and delivered them with a clinical degree of care, “We located John below the rim. He was deceased.” I didn’t respond right away. “I’m sorry.” She added.

“Thank you,” I replied, and then, “I’m sorry you have to make these phone calls.”

“Thank you.” She said with an exhale that demonstrated the exhaustion of it in her bones.

She described the location. Exactly where my husband had predicted, and where he was planning to search first. She told me he fell 464 feet.

“His death would have been instant.”

I asked the only question that mattered to me at the time, “Can I ask, did it look…intentional?”

“Without video footage, there’s no way to know for certain. But,” She continued tentatively, “Based on the location of his body and bike in the canyon, that’s the way it appears.”

We were both silent for a while.

“What happens now?” I asked.

She explained all the next steps for his “remains”. It was jarring to hear my brother being referred to by that word, but that’s all that was left of him, I supposed.

In a haze, I ended the call, placed my baby back in his crib and robotically made my way downstairs. I called my sister (my brother’s ex-wife) and told her I needed her to come over.

I was numb.

It was nearly 10pm. I needed to eat dinner so I would have enough nourishment to pump five more ounces of milk to give my baby in another hour. And, sometime before that, I had to wake my parents and tell them their son was dead.

My brother was missing for one week – from the time of his last social media post to the time the Park Rangers recovered his body – it was a week like no other in my life.

I can’t begin to explain what life is like when a loved one is missing. Everything is suspended in mid-air, but reality goes on around you. You hold your breath. Every text, every message, every phone call could be the one.

Every opening door you expect them to walk through. You can think of virtually nothing else. Your mind reels with what if’s and possibilities. You become a real-life private investigator, trying to piece together clues and information. You go crazy looking for them, for answers, anywhere, everywhere.

It’s still surreal even now.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to go months or years or forever with a loved one still unaccounted for.

Toward the end of that week, my mother was sick with the thoughts of my brother’s body being out there somewhere alone. Broken. Abandoned Among the wild animals. She broke down in tears and in a desperate, guttural plea cried out to my husband, “Just go get him…Please!”

Seeing her so utterly fragmented was harder than my own grief.

The hardest part for me of that week is the fact he was dead for four days before I even knew he was missing. My heart aches at that detail. Somehow it feels like my fault.

Two days before the call, the first thought I had upon waking was, My brother is not alive anymore. I just knew it, in my bones. As plainly as I knew my own name.

Hours later, I’ll never see my brother again, rolled through my head with a fresh, and different, layer of grief. The two sentences carry the same truth but are two distinct losses.

It would be a full year before I would write out a full inventory of my losses from his death.

On the day of the call, I wrote in my journal:

This phone call was just a confirmation of what I already knew. I know more layers of grief will come. In waves over the next few days, months, years…For the rest of life on this side of Heaven.

When you experience such a profound loss, every part of you just wants to shut down. Stop eating, stop getting out of bed, stop caring. But, having a newborn at the time, none of that was an option for me.

I ended that journal entry:

But for now, life goes on. My baby still has to eat. I still have to feed by body for him.

And I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other ever since.

***

This post is part 2 in a series that starts with: http://racheldawnwrites.com/blog/reads-like-fiction/

Nov 4th, 2016

Three years ago on this day, I sat on my living room couch in my snack-stained bathrobe and messy bedhead bun – on what should have been one of the happiest days of my life – only feeling confused and disappointed.

I remember thinking, this is not at all what I imagined this would be like. I thought I would feel…..different. I thought I would feel something at least.

Anything but the way I did.

It was launch day for my first book, Now What? A Story of Broken Dreams and the God Who Restores Them. This was the culmination of a six-year journey. The achievement of a dream I had held in my heart since the third grade. The pinnacle moment for the project I had poured every bit of myself into for the last four years.

And I felt nothing.

The night before, I had been up late waiting to push “publish” on the Amazon CreateSpace platform that would send my words to every corner of the globe with an internet connection.

As the second hand tipped over the minute line and the clock struck midnight, I pushed that button with great expectation – as if my whole world would magically transform in an instant. When a confirmation page loaded on the browser I thought, well that was anticlimactic.

I walked around in a daze that Friday.

My book launch party was still a week away; there was still plenty to do, so I threw myself into the last-minute details of that and convinced myself that on that day – surrounded by my closest friends and family, toasting lattes to my accomplishment – I would finally feel that mountaintop moment of arrival I was expecting.

But November 11^th came and went, and while I relished every moment of celebrating the milestone, surrounded by my biggest cheerleaders, nothing changed on the inside of me.

In fact, I plummeted so fast and so far south on my emotional rollercoaster, I felt more disenchantment than elation. Disillusionment than excitement.

I checked the sales report every morning for weeks – expecting to see numbers in the thousands. When it barely tipped over 60 copies in the first month, I was in a full-on depression.

What was happening?

If God really called me to write this book, and He opened all the doors for me to put it out in the world like He did, wouldn’t He also cause it to fly off the shelves?Wouldn’t He want as many copies in the hands of as many people as possible? Wouldn’t He want to make it a best-seller?

Did I hear Him wrong? Is this my fault? What’s wrong with me?

Then came the shame. Mountains and oceans of shame.

Shouldn’t Jesus be enough?

I mean, sure, those “lost” people out in the world deal with feeling unfulfilled, but not Christians, right?

I mean, I literally learned this lesson in junior high youth group: Every human on earth is walking around with a Jesus-sized hole inside them. Most people go around trying to fill it up with relationships, or sex, or drugs and alcohol. But once you “get saved” and “have Jesus”, all that goes away.

…Then why did I still have a hole?

What I have learned in the last three years is that achievement is empty. Achievement alone.

Even if it is the achievement of something good.

Even if it is something God called you to.

Even if it is in ministry.

Even if your heart is pure.

And no body prepared me for this.

No one ever told me that people inside the church – even inside ministry – can still feel emptiness in their souls.

I had enough foresight to see that if accomplishing the number one goal in my life made me feel this hollow, than any other goal I set from here would only result in the same cavernous hole. And I needed to do something about it.

So I set out on a journey. To wrestle with God about the ideas of success and accomplishment I held so deeply. To seek to understand the balance between expectation and contentment. Striving and satisfaction.

And it’s been great!

And scary. And fulfilling. And challenging. And burden-lifting. And freeing. And seemingly never-ending.

But, I’m starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m starting to grasp some firm answers and see through the fogginess to clarity.

It’s time to start talking about it. I’m excited to begin sharing this journey with you.

If you’ve ever been disappointed by a dream come true, I hope you’ll come along with me.

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

4 Things You Need to Know Before You Start Blogging

Have you ever thought about starting a blog?

I toyed with the idea once or twice myself before I finally did. As much as I love to write, I hate blogs. Everything about them. My thoughts are, who has time to read blogs? …much less keep up with writing one? AmIRight?

Plus, there are just so many out there already! As of 2013, there were 152 million blogs on the internet. [1] As of 2:46pm on Feb 17^th, 2017 there had already been 2.9 million blog posts posted THAT DAY alone.[2]

I figured if I did ever start one, I would make it about two months and never remember to post again. Fizzle out. Like so many other bloggers do. In fact, research shows the average blog is dead after a mere 100 days.

So I never started one. Until I did. Sunday was the two year anniversary of my first blog post.

So, why did I start one?

Because in one conversation with my mentor, she told me if I ever wanted to get a book contract with a publisher, I needed this thing called a platform, and blogging was generally a good way to start building one of those.

So, Feb 19^th, 2015, I opened a WordPress account and copy/pasted something I’d already written as a facebook post as my first blog entry. (I know, I totally cheated.)

But since that first post, I’ve learned a few things. Here’s what I want you to know, that I wish I had known then:

Know that blogging is not for the faint of heart. But it’s worth it.

Baring your soul for the whole world to see is not easy – even for us extroverts.

There’s a Special Thanks page in the back of my book and my editor’s name is first on the list. This is part of what I wrote to her: Turning over a first book (or maybe any book? I don’t know yet) for editing is kind of like tearing open your soul and inviting someone to walk inside. It’s exposing the most intimate parts of your inner self and trusting that person not to return pieces of you shattered and bloody.

It’s the same with blogging.

There are some posts I write that are so vulnerable I want to throw up after I hit the “publish” button. I don’t know if my words and my heart will be received appropriately. What if the message I was trying to convey is misinterpreted? Or what if I just sound stupid, or whiny, or self-centered, or entitled….

I vividly remember feeling this way about a post I wrote regarding race relations during some of the tense riots that happened over the last few years. (You can read that post here: www.RachelDawnWrites.com/blog/Color-blinded)

I have been super fortunate to this point that I haven’t gotten any extremely negative, critical or harsh comments about anything I’ve written. But I know as my platform grows, it’s inevitable.

.facebook_1460409929320 I heard a speaker at a writing conference say, “When you’re marketing anything in life – whether it’s chicken sandwiches or books – there is a 1% jerk factor in the world. One percent of people who are just negative and critical for the sake of being negative and critical. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. You could offer the best thing in the world, that 99 other people love, but this 1 person will find something wrong with it and a reason to complain.” Expect it, Accept it, Move on. It’s not you, it’s them.

Your message will resonate with some people and not with others, and that’s ok. You can get really derailed really fast if you try pleasing everyone with every post. That’s just not reality.

Pick you niche, hone your voice, find your audience, and write meaningful stuff for them. Period.

Any self-doubt, second-guessing, fear, uncertainty or criticism is totally worth it when someone responds to something you’ve written with, “me too”, “that’s exactly how I feel”, “I thought I was alone”.

Know that it sucks. No one will read it (at first). You will want to quit.

I understand that’s 3 things in one bullet point, but they are all the same.

Recently a photographer friend of mine posted: “Being a [creative] entrepreneur is just waves of ‘I just want to quit’, ‘this is crap’, ‘I’m deleting social media’, and occasionally, ‘Man, I was really made to do this.’”

When you spend hours working on one post, upload it, and keep refreshing your wordpress stats every 15 mins only to see that only 6 people look at it and no one comments….. you kiiiind of feel like throwing in the towel.

What’s the point of writing, of investing your time and emotional/mental energy, if no one even cares?

I don’t have an answer to this one. Because I found myself asking this very same question this week. After two years of blogging I have 33 “subscribers” to my blog. Even some of my most loyal readers, who tell me they love every post I write, aren’t subscribed and they don’t regularly share my posts with their networks. So I get it, it’s really discouraging.

But I’m learning there are ways you can hone your voice and your craft to increase those numbers, to increase your effectiveness.

I came across some incredible free training just this week that’s helping me with streamlining my posts to get more traction and shares. Ruth Surkamp founder of Elite Blogging Academy, author of “How to Blog for Profit: Without Selling Your Soul”, is offering this free series online right now. Check it out: https://ruthsoukup.leadpages.co/blogging-made-simple-2017-video-1/?inf_contact_key=bd1f84da626e39d8eb703404e962fc6161c1d1a4683a3ab7fb02ce596d2ae12f

I got tons of practical, immediately applicable tips from the very first video. I completely restructured this post I had already started after watching it and learning what I did. Thank you for that Ruth!

Know WHY you are blogging.

The quickest way to get frustrated and stop blogging is if you start a blog before you know why you are starting a blog. There are definitely tips and tricks and skills you can learn to blog more effectively, depending on what your goals are. But if you don’t know what your goals are….. you can’t hit them.

Ask yourself, why are you blogging? Is it just for fun? Are you just blogging for yourself, a literal personal web-log or diary? Are you blogging to tell stories to your close family and friends? Are you trying to use blogging as a source of income? Are you trying to expand your network/platform/reach/tribe/influence – whatever you want to call it – to get your voice and your message out there? Are you trying to make an impact? Change people’s lives? Raise awareness? Be an expert? Start a movement?

Even if it’s just to make people laugh or to feel inspired, you need to ask yourself: What is your purpose in blogging?

I came face to face with this question shortly after I launched my blog and my online platform, when Facebook asked me “What business am I in?” I stared at the blank box with the blinking cursor in it for a solid half hour while I asked myself, why am I doing this anyway? I came up with a pretty solid answer I shared in this post here: www.RachelDawnWrites.com/blog/what-business-am-i-in.

What it boiled down to in 160 characters or less was:

“I am in the business of restoring hope, igniting dreams, inspiring change, and leading people toward freedom.”

And out of that whole exercise came my business tagline, “Restoring Hope, Igniting Dreams”.

That’s why I blog. That’s why I study how and work to increase my platform. Because the more people my blogs can reach, the more people’s lives I can impact and influence for the better. Which is literally the reason I was created in the first place.

Blogging helps me move in the direction of my purpose. That’s a good investment of time and energy.

You need to ask yourself if it is for you.

Know You Have Something Worth Saying.

Who was I to start a blog? What did I have to say that people would be interested in and that hadn’t already been said a thousand times. Who would want to read it? How would I stand out from all the others? Those were some of the questions I wrestled with that February two years ago.

counter (2) Reading all the overwhelming stats about how saturated the world of blogging is and thinking about all the work, potential roadblocks, discouragements and frustrations could easily make you throw up your hands and decide blogging isn’t worth it at all.

Or maybe you’re stuck in that place I was asking, “Who am I to do this?”

This week I taught the high school service at my church. We are in the midst of an all-church journey on identity, wherein we are identifying the lies and labels in our lives – who we think we are or who the world says we are – and replacing those with the Truth of who God says we are.

Part of the lesson this week was the story of Moses and his own identity crisis. Born a Hebrew slave, raised an Egyptian Prince, on the run after committing murder, Moses found himself pondering life as a sheepherder in the country. When seemingly out of nowhere, God called him to be the hero of the story; to lead the people of Isreal out of slavery in Egypt. His response to God was similar to mine when God told me to write a book (and subsequently start a blog), “Who am I, Lord? Who am I to be the hero or lead a people?”

God’s response was simple: It doesn’t matter who you are, Moses, what matters is Who is with you and Who is sending you. He told Moses to go into Egypt and tell people “I Am” (Yahweh) has sent me. That’s all the credibility and power Moses needed.

You were created for a purpose. Just like I was. Just like Moses was. Uniquely. There are 522d171b57ab75f123db71e966e47bfa seeds planted inside of you, talents and abilities, to help you succeed in that purpose. Writing – sharing your thoughts through written words – may very well be a part of that.

Lysa Terkeurst says this in her book “Uninvited”: “Remember that there is an abundant need in this word for your contributions….. your thoughts and words and artistic expressions…. Your exact brand of beautiful.”

Other people might have similar things to say, but there is only one you. You are the only person with your story, your experiences, your worldview, your voice.

Don’t let your doubts, fears, or insecurities stop you from doing what you were created to do.

What if, instead of agreeing to the mission, Moses had told God, “There are so many other Hebrew men more qualified for this than me, I’m out.”

Would the Isrealites still be in slavery today? Would thousands of lives be entirely different? Maybe. Likely not. Likely, God still would have accomplished His mission, but He would have used someone else to get it done. He could have found someone else to stand up to Pharoah and say, “Let my people go.” But the one life that certainly would have been different would have been Moses’. He would have lived out his days as a sheepherder, which was not what he was created to do.

If you decide not to let those words that are burning inside you get out, could God still get that message out through someone else? Of course. But then you won’t be living out what you were created to do either. And what kind of living is that?

So, blogging might be hard and it might suck and maybe you’ll never have more than 30 readers, and most of the time you’ll feel like giving up, but if it’s part of what you were created to do, you must.

And when you feel like quitting, just remember why you are doing it, Who sent you, and that you have something worth saying.

[1] http://www.patrickkphillips.com/blogging/research-the-average-blog-lifespan-isnt-very-long/

[2] www.Worldometers.info/blogs

What makes you come alive?

I’m never so alive as when I’m writing something that has the potential to change someone else’s life.

DOing what I was CREATED and gifted to do.

I am not perfect. I will continue to get better, hone my craft, improve my skills…. But there’s nothing like living out your God-given purpose in real life.

What’s your purpose? What makes you come alive? When is the last time you thought about it? Or acted on it?

I know how easy it is to get buried in the routine of every day until weeks have gone by and you haven’t done anything meaningful. Friends, you were not created to work a job, to make money, to pay bills and just die.

What are you passionate about?
What are you gifted in?

Where those two things intersect, you will find your purpose.

Deserts

Lately I’ve been feeling….dry.

And by “lately” I mean for like the last 6 months. And by “dry” I mean a little dead on the inside. Spiritually.

I have heard about spiritual desert seasons people go through. When they feel distant from God.

And I’ve seen the cheesy church signs that say things like:
“Feeling distant from God?
Who moved – you or Him?”

Thanks for that extra guilt and shame, church sign. In a time when I already feel lost and confused.

The fact of the matter is, I have been marching steadily toward the purpose and the mission to which God has called me. Not away from it or Him. So why do I feel so….blah?

At the beginning, when I started, when I was writing my book and right after I finished, when I started to tell people about it, and started telling my story, every day was exciting and new!! Filled with limitless potential! Every day was fulfilling. I had so much to get out and I watched people’s lives change right in front of me.

But now, I struggle with the feeling that maybe I’ve given all I had to give? Maybe now I’m all used up and empty. Dried out. Do I have anything left to offer people?

I feel guilty for not reading as much lately as I should be. I know my growth is directly related to how much I’m reading. But the hunger I had the Summer before I wrote my book – the Summer I devoured sixteen other books on marriage, divorce and remarriage in four months – has waned….no, disappeared. And I don’t know why.

I don’t even know what I would want to learn about next.
And I don’t want to only keep reading and studying marriage and relationships, I want to be able to offer more than that. Plus, I feel like I’ve said everything I have to say about that, in my book.

…..Which still isn’t published.

And that is what makes me feel the most drained and dry.

I’ve passed all three goals and deadlines I gave myself to get it out. I thought surely I’d be passing it on the shelf at Barnes & Noble by now. But I’m stiiiilllll editing. Which is not exciting, or new, or life-giving. It sucks every ounce of energy and enthusiasm I have for my book right out of me.

It took me 3 months to write my book, and I’ve been editing for 9. And I’m not even done with the first round.

And after I get finished with that, I’ve got to learn everything there is to learn about self-publishing. To make sure I do it right and make the best choices.

I assumed writing a book was the hardest part about writing a book. And I assumed someone else would be taking care of all this other stuff. I just want it out, and in people’s hands, so I can be moving on. Progressing to the next step in this journey, in my ministry.

But it’s not. And I’m not. I’m stuck.

I used to hear and see God leading me and moving other people and things into place. But now I feel like He’s being silent, and I don’t know why.

Recently, I heard about the “500 years of silence” the Israelites experienced between the time the Messiah was prophesied to them and the birth of Jesus. 500 years. He didn’t speak another word to them directly, or through his prophets at all.

500…five-HUNDRED…Years.

Entire generations died, just waiting.

This is the stretch of time between where the Old Testament ends and the New Testament begins. (Random fun fact: Alexander the Great lived in that 500 year time span, which is why, he is a real person but not recorded in the Bible.)

Were these years of silence their own fault? Disobedience?

Or, was there a greater purpose to it?

Did God just stop caring about them?

Did God stop caring about me? Did I do something wrong?

I wrote this in December 2015, but hadn’t published it yet because I didn’t have answers to these questions – I didn’t even know what all questions to ask – and it was scary and confusing. I have answers now. Lots of them. Not all of them, but lots of them.

And I’ll be sharing them with you soon.

Stay tuned.

In the meantime, have you ever felt like you were in a dry season? Are you in one now? How long did it last?

You Make Me Brave

brave

Jonathan Robert Willis *Photographer snapped this shot at the ‪#‎Unpolished2015‬ conference the moment he was asking me about my book, and i was telling him and his team about how i’m in the editing process now and how editing is WAY harder and more work than writing the book ever was! and then we laughed about it.

what i love is that this expression captures so much of what 2015 was for me – that’s an overwhelmed laugh. it’s laughter lined with a layer of uncertainty because i actually had no idea what i was doing. being an author, publishing, speaking publicly…. i know it’s what I’m being called to, but it’s all new territory for me.

so 2015 was a year of DOing, MOVING forward, of OBEYing, and figuring it out as i went – even when I felt completely unqualified.

When my picture played in the slideshow during worship at the end of the conference, it was timed perfectly with these lyrics, “you make me brave. you make me brave”.
i think it was a sweet reminder from my Father that I don’t have to have it all figured out, or feel completely certain or confident, He will give me EVERYTHING I need, including bravery, for this task He has called me.

Weighted Words

The first time someone tells you they took notes on your talk, is a humbling and sobering moment. You realize you’re not just talking anymore.

I’ve always been a story-teller, but now my stories carry a weight and a purpose, and can change people’s lives.

They always have on a smaller scale. Words are seeds. Seeds we plant in our own mind and our own lives, as well as in the lives of those we encounter.

A few weeks ago my church played a music video for “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine that they remade. You should go watch it, but for those of you with limited time I’ll attempt to help you visualize: It starts with a scene of a little girl practicing her ballet for her father, she’s so proud to show him what she’s learned. He claps and nods in approval then the words, “you can do better” slip carelessly from his mouth. The words are written in smoke on the screen and travel to the little girl’s ears. Then manifest as a the word “perfectionism” being branded on her chest. Several other scenes of children with their fathers follow, and different words are tattooed on their small, impressionable bodies from the words spoken to them. Those labels become identities, which become demons with whom they battle through to their adult lives.

The video is powerful. It’s shaking. It leaves a lasting impression. It’s absolutely true.

And it’s not just children who are affected by words, we all are. You know that phrase, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”? Yeah, that’s a lie. I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long at all to think about some hurtful words you received at some point in your life that still occasionally (or constantly) haunt you. Or even some positive words you heard that have driven you, or molded you.

Now I’m speaking words from a larger platform and more people are being impacted than just my friend on the phone or the person on the other side of the Starbucks table. Which is exactly what I wanted, what I know God is orchestrating, but the reminder struck me with such a sense of responsibility in that moment.

“To whom much is given, much is required.” -Luke 12:48

A select handful of close friends have read my book already on order to help me tweak it and to provide “advanced reviews/praise” for the release.

One of those friends recently told me that she took a lot of notes while reading my book. I giggled a little and told her, “I never thought about people taking notes from something I wrote. But I guess that makes sense because I take notes from books I read.”

It’s little milestones like these that keep me encouraged and moving forward on this journey.

The bigger my platform grows the more people my words will reach, and the bigger the responsibility I have to consider every word I let out.

No matter whether they come from my fingertips through the keys or out of my mouth, my resolution is that every word I produce: uplifts, encourages, inspires, provides hope, and comforts a hurting heart. I want people to receive a Breath of Fresh Air through me. To feel lighter, empowered, brave, comfortable and confident after I leave them. I want to lift the weight of shame, guilt, doubt, uncertainty and depression off their shoulders in the time I have with them.

That’s a lot. A big responsibility. It could be a lot of pressure. But I know I cannot do any of this in and of myself. It doesn’t come from me anyway. I’m only a grateful conduit of this transfer of love, grace, hope and inspiration with my words.

My task now is to always keep in check where my words are originating, are they from my flesh or from my Spirit? I will not always have the right words to say, but I don’t have to.

“Then the LORD reached out and touched my mouth and said, “Look, I have put my words in your mouth!” – Jeremiah 1:9

“For it was I, the LORD your God, who rescued you from the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it with good things.” – Psalm 81:10