Author: Faith & Culture

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Three Essentials for Writing Words that Matter

Emily FreemanBy Emily Freeman

I recently watched a four and a half minute video where author and pastor John Ortberg remembers his friend, Dallas Willard. One quick segment shows a clip from a conversation John and Dallas had only a few months before Dallas passed away.
John: “How do we help people – if somebody wants to think about, “How is my spiritual life going or how is my soul doing?” – how do we help people ask and answer that question?”

Dallas: “Well, very slowly. One at a time, we listen to them . . . I think the next thing is a question and not a statement: What’s bothering you? Start there.”

They talk some more and then John makes a joke.
John: “What’s bothering you? could be an interesting liturgical question – to start the church service asking, What’s bothering you? And the people could respond back, And also you.”

I laughed out loud when he said it and so did the audience. Then, as the clip ends, Dallas can be heard saying, “That would be absolutely revolutionary.”

I had to pause the video at that moment, three minutes and fifty-five seconds in, Dallas’ deep voice and thoughtful statement hanging there in the air over my desk. That would be absolutely revolutionary. I knew I agreed with Dallas but it took me a few minutes to figure out why.

I don’t remember being expressly taught not to be bothered, but somewhere along the way I learned it anyway. To ask myself or someone else what is bothersome seems like a self-focused, self-indulgent invitation to rant or complain. But what if we were willing to look deeper in? Instead of manufacturing peace by shooing away my frustration or smoothing out my ruffled feathers, I am learning the importance of getting quiet enough to honestly consider what bothers me – not just on the surface, but deep within my soul. Sometimes what I learn is ugly or uncomfortable. But there are other times I discover right next to my frustration lives a drop of passion I didn’t realize was there and a spark of hope I didn’t realize I needed.

What does this have to do with writing words that matter? When it comes to uncovering my authentic voice as a writer, the first thing I have to know is what is bothering me. Once I’m able to honestly access my frustrations, I can begin to uncover the passion and hope that live close-by. This is how all four of my books were born.

Being frustrated doesn’t make me qualified or ready. But it does wake something up within me, something that compels me to move and want to get ready. The frustration rolls into a compulsion towards change, passion to communicate and to move into the chaos of the questions even if I don’t have all the answers. But being frustrated about an issue and compelled to do something about it won’t sustain the message for the long-term. For me, what really keeps me moving is the hope of something better. It’s important for these three things to work together – frustration, passion, and hope. Otherwise, my voice will be something I don’t intend.
Passion and hope without frustration feels inauthentic.
If I’m not bothered deeply enough, no one else will be either. Frustration is the spark that fuels the passion and the hope. Without it, my writing won’t have enough life to meet a strong enough felt need or to tell a compelling story.
Frustration and hope without passion leads to detachment.
If I’m frustrated and have hope for change but I’m not passionate about the issue, I won’t be able to engage it with enough heart to make a difference. Love is tucked deeply inside passion, and we don’t want your loveless art.
Frustration and passion without hope leads to cynicism.
In my experience, when I am frustrated and passionate without hope, I’m vulnerable to cynicism. If I don’t have hope for change, despair creeps in and my writing feels too dark and filled with angst. Without hope, I write afraid.

Frustration wakes me up. What frustrates you? Passion gets me moving. What compels you? Hope keeps me going. What do you most hope for? I’m thankful for Dallas Willard’s revolutionary question: What’s bothering you? As writers, may we be brave enough to answer it, passionate enough to engage it, and hopeful enough to influence change.

 

Emily FreemanEmily is the author of A Million Little Ways, Grace for the Good Girls, and Graceful. She shares her words and photographs on her own website at www.ChattingAtTheSky.com. We are honored to welcome Emily as one of our featured speakers at the 2015 Faith & Culture Writers Conference.

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Dare to create in world of hushes

Brooke Perry - NEW gclEjxnBy  Brooke Perry

We’ve all had it, that moment where we release the inner weapons of our mind and soul. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

When we feel that blast of icy cold freedom, thoughts come easily like gifts and life seems like an adventure we can tackle one stroke of a paintbrush, pencil, key or chord at a time.

Not remembering a moment like that recently? They’re easy to forget. As children these moments are much easier to welcome in. We have an almost insane amount of resilience to the harshness of the world around us, even when it’s constantly in our face.

I remember daydreaming and being unrealistically hopeful as an eight year-old girl the very same day that my dad died in our home. I talked of my wedding as I sat on the couch after hearing the news that my dad had breathed his last. There was pain associated with the new reality of him not being at my wedding one day, but I could still see the dress.

Hope wasn’t completely sapped by tragedy.

My mind wasn’t completely numb to beauty.

There is something about a child’s mind that reflects the heart of God for us, and sadly, but not hopelessly, so many of us lose the permission we once distributed freely to ourselves to truly and fully…be.

We hold back, we doubt, we fear and when those ugly lies stand against our creative beautiful whole minds and hearts, it cheapens the wonderful and whimsical character that is in each of us.

Oh that we would dream in the face of death again. Oh that we would dare to create boldly and loudly in a world full of hushes. 

So, can I ask you to join us? We’d love to allow you the space to release yourself back into this world; after all, you are a result of God doing just that through His creation of you, your wonderful and beautiful self. Let’s see what’s still inside of you, shall we? We’ll give you the permission you need to create until you can find it in yourself to do the same.

Brooke is the Mentor & Agent Coordinator for the Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference.  She blogs at   BrookeNicolePerry.com

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Tell your naked honest truth

marc-schelske-web-108By Marc Schelske

I started calling myself a writer a little more than a year ago.  The truth is that I’ve been writing all of my life. I’ve got a stack of book starts buried in lost corners of my computer. I’ve been writing original content in the course of my employment for almost 20 years now. I self-published a book on Amazon almost exactly 2 years ago. (Man, was that cool!)

Then, at last year’s Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference I pitched a book and ended up with an agent! But even still, it took a little stern encouragement from Jeff Goins to push me over the emotional line of actually referring to myself as a writer.

One of the tasks I started thinking about as I started taking my writing more seriously was the serious quest that all writers must embark on: “Finding my voice.”

I worried about my writing voice as I blogged. I fretted that I might invest so much time building a blog, then discover I was writing in the wrong voice all along. Then what?

I started paying attention to the voice of writers I admired.  What were the secret ingredients? How did Ann Lamott come off so self-effacing, so honestly-insecure and hilarious? What made John Gruber’s technology writing so engaging? What allowed him to be so darn opinionated and yet not off-putting?  I was thinking about my voice, and then I was thinking about my thinking about my voice. That’s a stressful mind-game if ever there was one!

Then I remembered something.  I had already found my voice once.

I’ve been a professional speaker for… well a little more than 20 years now. I’m closing in on a thousand presentations. During that time, I went through a host of stages.

  • There was the “Karaoke stage” where I tried speaking in the style and tone of various famous speakers I admired.
  • There was the “Memorized Perfection stage” where I not only wrote the presentation word-for-word, but then memorized the tone, the gestures, the whole darn thing.
  • For a few years I was in the “Speaking Factory stage” where I presented three different original talks every week for two years straight.

Through all of that I’ve tried on a pile of different voices.  I’ve channeled African American preachers, comedians, TED talk presentations, professors, and the voice I imagine favorite authors speaking in. In all of that time, I was building skills.  I was building experience. I was building courage.  But I wasn’t really finding my voice.

I found my voice when I decided what I really had to offer. 

I’ve been a preacher for most of my public speaking experience, so I had the authority of scripture and the buy-in of congregations that wanted to be taught.  But we’ve all heard preachers. We’ve heard preachers talk about the very same scripture. What makes the difference between one you connect with and one you don’t?

At first I thought what I had to offer was great scholarship. So, I’d study and research and prepare so I could understand my material as deeply as I could.  That helped me be accurate and thoughtful, but it wasn’t my voice.

Then I thought what I had to offer was well-crafted material presented with excellence.  So, I’d write and re-write. I’d practice and practice. That made my presentations less painful for the audience for sure, but it wasn’t my voice.

At one point I thought what I had to offer was a twist, a new way of looking at an old truth. So, I’d hunt and pray and reflect on my material, always looking for a new angle. That made my work more interesting — sometimes in a helpful way, sometimes not so much…  It also wasn’t my voice.

I found my voice when I learned that what I have to offer, my unique view, was my honest authentic vulnerable truth. 

Over and over I experienced this.  I’d put hours and hours into a presentation, crafting every edge, and the audience would be unmoved. Then I’d take a risk, push past the very visceral panic in my gut, and share something from my own journey. Some moment of insecurity or fear, a place where I blew it, my own weakness and doubt.  Those moments? Every. Single. Time. People responded. They were moved.  They were challenged. They grew.

I found my voice when I started telling my truth.

As a writer, I’m re-learning this lesson. I’m re-learning what it looks like to offer great content, to do it in a way that connects with people—but most of all, to do it in the most honest, authentic, vulnerable way I can bear. That’s where my voice resides.

It’s a scary place to write from. But it’s also when you start writing things that matter, things that will move people. Write as much as you can. Master the technical skills. Blog, because blogging is to writers what gigging is to musicians—it’s practicing in public. But most importantly, tell your naked honest truth. That’s where you’ll find your voice.
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Marc Alan Schelske attended his first Faith & Culture Writers Conference in 2014, and returns this year as an important member of the leadership planning team. He serves as the email and launch coordinator as well the scribe.

Marc is the author of Discovering Your Authentic Core Values, an upcoming online course called, “How to read the Bible to Hear God and Grow without Having to be a Legalist, a Theology Professor, or a Crackpot,” and has a book in development about the intersection of faith and emotion, and is represented by the DC Jacobson Agency.

Marc grew up in Ohio, but he’s lived in the Northwest long enough to feel like a native. Marc is a husband, dad of two, speaker, writer, hobbyist theologian, recovering fundamentalist who drinks tea & rides a motorcycle.

Visit him at: MarcAlanSchelske.com |Twitter: @Schelske

 

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Rough Draft – Our conference theme, our lives.

Cornelia Becker SeigneurBy Cornelia Becker Seigneur

I love the quote by Maxwell Perkins that goes like this: “Just get it down on paper, then we will see what to do with it.” Perkins, as the editor of Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Thomas Wolfe, knew what he was talking about.

I just wish I would live by those words, as I should.

The blank page. Why does it haunt us?

Just begin.

The perfectionist in us perhaps, or the fear of being criticized or the fear of the painful memories we channel when we begin to write. But, the quote by Perkins reminds us to just begin, just get it on paper, onto the computer, into that journal.

That’s why we are really excited to announce the theme of the 2015 Faith & Culture Writers Conference:

Rough Draft: From Blank to Beautiful.

We want to gather friends of words and story and The Word together to give them permission to create. To not be afraid of the blank page. To know that it’s okay to know that our work is in progress. Because aren’t we all rough drafts, creations of God whom He’s working on?

Every year as we think through, pray over, and dream about the theme for the Faith & Culture Writers Conference, we come up with five words that represent our vision for the year. This year, to go along with the Rough Draft theme, we wanted to have those five words reflect the nature of the creative process. Those five words this year are:

Decide, Dare, Prepare, Persist, Release.

Follow these 5 words, and you will find your creativity expand and your writing career moving forward.

Decide. We need to decide we are writers, dreamers, artists, activists, authors, entrepreneurs, believers. It starts with a yes. An, “I can do this, I will do this, I start today.” It is a simple yes, packed in deep dreams and beliefs and that you-know-you-are-called vision. Don’t wait for someone else to give you permission, to tell you you are good enough. You do not need their permission. God has already given you permission. He has shaped you and molded you and made you into a creative being. He is a creative God. His first words, “In the beginning, God created.” Decide. Begin.

Dare. To write that first word. That first story. That first blog post. That first article. That first book proposal. That hundredth book proposal. Let’s face it, It takes courage to get our words and story out there. It takes guts. People may not like our work, they may not appreciate our story, they may think we are not good enough. That’s okay. Do it anyway. It’s your calling.

Prepare. Yes, you do need to decide that you are a writer with something to contribute, and you then need to dare to get your art out there, to have courage. But then, you need to find a way, get some advice, seek out the expertise of others, learn how to write moving blog posts. As a writers’ conference, we want to help you prepare for that launch of your words, your art, your story, your creativity.

Persist. Okay, you’ve decided to begin, you’ve said yes to the dare, and you’ve begun to prepare for what that means. Perhaps, it’s twice a week blog posts, meeting with a friend, seeking out an editor, attending a writers conference. But, then truth be told, it takes persistence. It takes sticking with it! There really are no one–book wonders or one-blog-post-goes-viral-and-you-are-famous wonders, or one-anything-wonders. Most of those authors who “make it” have been writing for years. When no one was noticing. Until one day, they got noticed.

Release. It’s time. You’ve decided to get your words out there, you’ve dared to be creative, you’ve prepared and you’ve stuck with it. Now, let it go. That’s it. Let people read it, and keep getting it out there, and leave the results to God. If one or a million or just you are changed by your words, your story, your art, it was worth it.

Cornelia is a freelance journalist and the mother of five children and finds her pen often turning to the chaos and craziness and beauty in her family life. She is the Founding Director for the Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference, and blogs at www.corneliaseigneur.com.

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It’s ok. We are art. | 2014 Writing Contest Winner

by Kelly McGuffie

“God has filled us with the Spirit of God, with skill, with intelligence, with knowledge, and with all the craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs…for work in every skilled craft.” Exodus 35:31-33

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My mom made it her personal mission to culturally educate her children during summer breaks from school.

She tirelessly piled my older brother, younger sister, and I into the minivan for adventures to the public library. We gathered armfuls of sticky children’s books (though I had a propensity for choosing foreign cookbooks), and quickly scribble entries on our reading club worksheets in hopes of earning elusive and grandiose prizes.

When the local community college offered workshops on topics exposing young minds to everything from earthworm composting technology to mastermind chess techniques, my mom was the first to sign us up. That is the story of how I once toured a dump and why we still tease my sister for being a chess nerd to this day.

The love my parents had for culture, history, and art saturated our family vacations. No matter what city we visited, we always stopped at three places: libraries, museums, and cemeteries. (The latter deriving from my dad’s fascination with genealogy. “Hold up your fingers for how many “greats” this dead uncle is to you and say “Cheese!”)

On one trip to the Portland Art Museum, which promised the wonder of ancient Egyptian creativity, my siblings and I were surprised to find that we were standing in a room full of nude sculptures. Our innocent faces showed our mortification as we realized our mother had brought us to Satan’s playground.

We looked at my mom with the same look we shot her when a movie character uttered words like “ass” or “damn.” It was a self-righteous look that said, “Mother! How could you let us be exposed to such filth?”

On this day at the art museum, my mom did not reply with the usual, “Sorry, kids.” She didn’t apologize for bringing us to a room with life-sized naked people with penises, hairy parts, and breasts.

“It’s ok, kids. It’s art.”

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On man’s first day, when God breathed life into Adam, I wonder if there was an audience. I wonder if the birds hovered in the trees waiting for the man to wake up. Perhaps the marching ants stopped their procession for a moment to end the debate over whether this new creature would walk on two, four, six, or eight legs.

Artists are often shy about their creations, with an innate desiring to wait until the piece is complete before revealing it to the public. Even then, the perfectionist natures of many artists lead them to conceal their full talent from the public.

The painter cares deeply for what is taking shape on her canvas. It takes time and precision, but the artist knows the art is worth her investment.

How much more then does our heavenly Creator love his greatest creation—us, the only creation that is continually made new?

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The universe came about with simple words.

Human life was birthed with a single breath.

God created a lot of things in those first days, but the greatest was humanity: the creation made in the image of God.

Selem ‘elohim: picture or likeness of God. But the Israelite’s did not separate between physical and spiritual realms.

In the Ancient Near East, when a work of art was constructed in the image of a god, three things were believed about that painting or statue. In addition to a spirit of that god living in the statue, the likeness had the power of and the functional surrogate abilities of whatever god it was made to represent.

Growing up in a Pentecostal denomination, I heard many sermons limiting the Holy Spirit to a moment at an altar: “getting filled,” “speaking in tongues,” “being endued with power,” “when the Holy Ghost comes upon you…”

I may not speak Hebrew or Greek, but I’ve heard the tongues of men and angels. Pentecost didn’t just start happening fifty days after the resurrection.

Pentecost was happening that first day of Creation when God said, and it was.

Pentecost was happening when God breathed into Adam, and he was.

Pentecost happens every time we use our God-given creativity, and we are.

When we are brave enough to invite the Holy Spirit into our worlds, we are saying yes to a full partnership and participation in the power and function of the God whose image we bear. Imagine what humanity can do with all its voices calling out into the void, hand-in-hand with the Holy Spirit, creating something new.

Humanity was given a unique gift at the moment of its creation; it was given the image of God. We have the power of the God we represent. We have the spirit of our God living inside of us. We can function as a surrogate of our God—hands and feet that do the dirty, thankless work of loving and creating.

The sculptures in the museum that day weren’t the only things in the room deserving the distinction of being called “art.”

Humans are living art who are full of the Spirit of the Great Artist, working as co-artists who participate in the restoration of Creation to the Creator.

It’s ok. We are art.

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Visit Kelly’s website: www.rainbootsandbeef.com

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Building Temples | 2014 Writing Contest Finalist

By Tresta Payne    

This life is for building temples.

There’s a voice that blows like the wind at the back of your mind though, and it tells you that words are wasted, imaginary things and that temples are built with greater offerings – the ones that go on lists and require only sweat and you point to them at the end of the day and proclaim progress.

Not success or satisfaction, but progress at least.

That  voice is the critic that never sleeps and is ever “put to shame by an image; For his molded image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them.” (Jer. 10:14)

He doesn’t own his shame though – he gifts it to you who listen. And he tempts you to build profane temples in places you were never meant to stay, where plastic is king and fake is safe and temples house merchandise for profit.

We run in circles to create breathless life. We clone images of our own design and step away from imago dei to manufacture, produce, proliferate. The world is driven by the lust for what we can have. We long for what we can hold. We believe in what we can see.

“Concrete concepts, please, and make them utilitarian. It doesn’t need breath as long as it has good functionality.”

We substitute duty for art and usefulness for slow thoughts. “Practical” rules our day and the windy voice in the recesses of our mind blows harder with each product produced.

We are supposed to be Makers of Great Art, Builders of Temples, Children of the Living God and not slaves of dead duty or chasers of public opinion.

Our art needs a new spokesperson.

We need a better Voice to give decibels to our living and breathing and wrestling and surrender. A better Champion. A hand pressing heavy on our back and feeding courage to us in large chunks of words and small portions of brave, because we are building up a world of living temples.

In the desert, God called the artisans by name. We wonder if He even knows ours. We make our name tags and chase our fame so that maybe God will notice our talents and pick us and confirm our hopes: that we are artisans, too.

We lose sight of His breath in us. We forget – how quickly we forget that God the Creator made us creative in His image and our best work bears His name.

He is calling the artisans and it’s all of us in one way or another. The painter and baker and poetry-maker. The one with music in her head. The one with beauty in his heart. The one with hammer and nail and those who dream in wide swaths of color – purple for the curtains, gold for the fastenings. All the ones who see heaven and feel earth and endeavor with all their breath to write this life as a shadow of things to come, He’s calling.

His voice is softer than the bite-y whisper but louder because we hear it in our hearts, where passion trumps utility and logic. He calls us by names we never dare to call ourselves.

So we write, because we hear words touching earth. We fight the blowhard voice of Practical and Useful with a sword in one hand and a pen in the other.

His hand is a comforting pressure at our back and our very breath – every exhale joining the incense of others – is pushed out and fills the earth with facets of His glory. We breathe deep and our lungs fill with a life lived or dreamed or begging to be written.

We make larger spaces in a world that closes in on us

We are artisans in our own deserts, who build houses for His glory with beauty and craftsmanship. The landscape starves for inspiration and our hearts would dry without beauty, would whither and evaporate right away. So we erect the ebenezers that help us through our own desert and we leave them standing for travelers coming behind, markers on the pilgrimage.

We are the author-artisans whose craft makes your sand-stung eyes weep in the desert of your own isolation. We build tabernacles for your dry places, because life is about building temples, and we are.

In our promised lands we make plans for bigger and better and we write them, sing them, scribble on napkins the way to the Temple. We want desperately to build up edifices of His glory and a place for the worshippers to come.

We see in the greens of spring, and the hope that springs eternal bleeds out of our fingers and we write it. We put it down in permanence, scary and hopeful and open for ridicule.

In the end, all that we’ve written become plans for another generation – words pressed heavy in us that will be a balm in their desert and a plan in their Jerusalem. Our children, our grandchildren, for as long as the Lord may tarry, will read our hearts on screens and pages. Our craft will live longer than our lives because His hand presses heavy and they understand in writing what He whispers in our hearts.

We are all David, handing the plans to our children and trusting the work, not to men, but to Great Inspiration:“All this,” said David, “the LORD made me understand in writing, by His hand upon me, all the works of these plans.” (1 Chron. 28:19)

The LORD makes us understand in writing how these living temples are built and how His Spirit indwells the space we make – comes right in and even pushes against our comfortable boundaries. We make more space with the poetry in our prose, and we tell our posterity the plans He has pressed heavy on us.

“Build the temple,” we say emphatically. Build it now, build it forward, up and ever on. “Do it and do not fear nor be dismayed, for the LORD God – my God – will be with you.” (1 Chron. 28:20)

This life is for building temples.

We are the scribes of everlasting stories and whether we congregate in deserts or meet in Jerusalem, if the Author of a good story lives in us, we have temple building to do.

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Visit Tresta’s website:  www.sharppaynes.com

 

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Wandering in Wonder | 2014 Writing Contest Finalist

By Hanna Maxwell

“God has filled us with the Spirit of God, with skill, with intelligence, with knowledge, and with all the craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs…for work in every skilled craft.”  Exodus 35:31-33 

There is a dentist’s office near my house that I pass every now and then.  I’ve been in there twice, and while they are mean and pushy about x-rays, the hygienists are good about making sure they have your favorite flavor of fluoride on hand.  They have a reader board, and for the last couple of months, it said, “Wisdom begins in wonder.”

I have been living in a state of wonder for the past year.  Perhaps not wonder in the sense Socrates meant when he said to the young philosopher Theaetetus, “For wonder is the feeling of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in wonder”, although I have been wondering about purpose.  Why am I here?  What is the point?  What do I do now?  But those are big questions, and often I try not to wonder in that direction for fear of being lost.

The wonder of my life has been awe.  My wonder does not express itself in complete thoughts.  No I wonder why the sky is blue or I wonder if God exists.  It’s more of a wow.  It’s an exhale.  It is the simple exhalation of too muchness.  I feel unqualified for that thing we call wisdom because my wonder is not a series of why questions.  It is mostly dumb admiration.

This past year, I graduated from college with a degree in English, took a life-altering trip to Ireland and Scotland, sat at home trying to figure out a purpose, and found a job that offers stability and monotony.  And I learned to pay attention.  Or rather, started to learn.  It’s a process.  I began to actually count my blessings.  I wrote them down.  There are literally one thousand moments of wonder and thanksgiving in the back of my journal.  In the long months of uncertainty and confusion, paying attention – in the tradition of the nature poet, Mary Oliver – became a way to pray.

I am disciplining myself to be in a constant state of amazement and live in the most present sense.  Foolishly, I thought, This is it.  All I have to do is pay attention and live in gratitude.  I have found the secret to a happy life at the tender age of nineteen.  I have no doubt that these are good things.  Very good things.  But then there came the nagging sense that this can’t be it.  Lists of blessings are not the end.  In the words of one of my favorite bands, “It is not enough to be dumbstruck.  You must have the words in that head of yours.”

This is where writing comes in.  I have words, and it turns out I had forgotten something essential.  In her poem “Sometimes,” Mary Oliver says:

“Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

There are three steps, and the third is the Great Commission.  Go and tell.  It is not enough to sit, unmoving and unchanging, even if it is in the delirious presence of the Creator of the Universe.  Sooner or later, we have to tell about it.  I believe that we, as image bearers of the Alpha and Omega, are all given gifts to reflect and tell of his image.  It could be through cooking a meal or holding a conversation or building a house.  Or it could be writing.

But is it wise to write?  I wonder that a lot.  We are all writers and readers here, so the power of words is just a given.  Nations are formed and religions are built on simple words.  Words.  We love them and they connect us.  I have never doubted the power of words – spoken, written, overheard, seen, whispered – but I have doubted the wisdom of writing down these holders of meaning and truth.

Let me rephrase: I don’t doubt that other people should write.  I do not doubt that we should share ourselves with each other through books and blog posts.  What I doubt is me.  Should I write?  How could that possibly be a good idea?  How could sharing all of the crazy, boring, mindless things that go through my head be beneficial for anyone else?

The thing is, the Great Commission does not single out certain people.  It is great and universal.  We are given the Spirit of the very Creator.  Therefore, we are commanded to create.  We have to share the awe by whatever way we know how.  We are called out of the slavery of self-doubt to build tabernacles, to write, to share.

It is not enough for me to be dumbstruck.  I can’t assume that other people are going to find all the words.  I too am commanded to pay attention and tell about it.  Wisdom may begin in wonder, but it doesn’t end there.  You have to follow it through.  You have to wander into the deserts and consider all the big questions we’d rather not think about.

To pay attention is step one.  To live a life of wonder is the second.  And for me, step three – no matter how scary or insignificant it may seem – is to write.

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Visit Hanna’s website:

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Blank Pages

by Brooke Perry

One of the sights I dislike the most is that of a blank page of paper. For some writers I’ve heard that this is an exciting sight, an invigorating and inspiring view of possibility; stories to be told and words to be written. For me it makes my throat close up and sweat start accumulating on my brow. I’m intimidated by the blankness. I want to know what’s going to end up there before I create it. I want to have a base to already build on. I’m much better in the building up than I am in the beginning from nothing.

Now some may say that what we are doing as writers is always building on something. I mean, there’s nothing new under the sun right? And yet even with the knowledge that there is always a “building up” process based on our thoughts and ideas and the experiences of life that have led up to these eluding thoughts and ideas, the sorting it all out intimidates me.

I am currently in a very “blank page” state of life, and if there’s anything I may dislike more than a blank page on a screen, it’s the blank page in my own heart, mind and soul. I look out at my life and see everything that I knew now saved into other files or deleted altogether. There are no words, no ideas, no decipherable thoughts. The things I thought were true stories of love, adventure and full life have now been revealed as lies, with one of the biggest deceivers of all being my own heart. I don’t know how to make sense of any truth I once thought I knew. So I get scared and I stop writing altogether.

Once I do start writing something it’s jumbled and fuzzy and ends up being deleted before I’ve even developed the thought. And I have an uncomfortable notion that this is exactly where Jesus wants me right now.

My heart is broken, my soul bruised and my mind blank. I can make it by “going through the motions” for a few hours at a time, but those hours are always followed by the delete button going full force and once again, the canvas is bare.

Why? Why the bareness, why the stark white page staring at me instead of everything that I had built for myself? Before, just a few weeks ago, I had thousands of words, well written words at that, covering page after page of my life.

I didn’t care if the words were wrong or in the wrong order, I only cared that my page was full.

Of course I desperately wanted the words to be filled with Jesus, filled with hope and purpose, but I was willing to let them stay regardless of whether or not Jesus actually did fill the page or not, over the threat of having to delete them altogether. The blankness, the giving over of authority to Jesus like never before wasn’t worth it to me. I didn’t see how deep I had gone with allowing words to cover the pain, deceit and desperation that my heart had fallen into.

But sometimes our Lord loves us enough to take control of the keyboard. Sometimes He loves us enough to call us to the terrifying blank canvas, to allow our entire hearts and souls that had been poured out onto that paper to be completely washed away, leaving us with nothing, nothing but Him.

And with His heart breaking in sync with ours, and His soul reaching out to mend our own, and His mind connecting with ours in only the way His can, we realize that He is bigger than the page, canvas and scope of what we can see of our lives. In the midst of the heartbreak and loneliness, the fear and confusion about what comes next, we realize that He is the true author of the greatest story ever told, and that the deletion of everything we had built for ourselves was the only thing miraculous and loving enough to allow His words of truth, life and, most importantly and confusingly of all, His words of LOVE to finally start to fill the pages of our soul.

So instead of trying to refill my pages in my own messy way, I finally let Him take control of my keyboard, and to my surprise, of all the miraculous secrets and wonders He could start to reveal on my new page of life, He only writes three words.

I CHOOSE YOU

The choice of these words surprised me as I didn’t understand why He had chosen to write those. I had most likely expected Him to write “I love you” instead because that seems to always be what He’s trying to get me to remember. And then He spoke to my heart and reminded me that in order to even believe that He loved me, I first had to believe that He chose to love me. That it wasn’t by default or obligation, however He had chosen me, and chooses me when I have nothing to give back to Him. He only wants my heart.

He led me to a verse I had read a million times and breathed new life into the words in these pages, the most important words we will ever have the gift of reading.

Ephesians 3:12-21

“Because of Christ and our faith in him, we can now come boldly and confidently into God’s presence. So please don’t lose heart because of my trials here. I am suffering for you, so you should feel honored. When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God. Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.”

To live a full life does not mean to have all of the right words, structure or punctuation in our writing of our own lives. To live a full life is only accomplished by fully receiving His love for us, and realizing that that life is the only true thing we will ever fully be able to boast about. All words, desires and dreams flow freely from this love. The forcing of our own lives forward ceases as we rest and lean into His truth. So as I work at allowing Him the control over the words in my life, the words on this very page, I leave you with the question He has so passionately whispered in my ear:

Where do you need to choose to believe His heart for you? What words are you forcing that would flow freely if you gave up the control of your keyboard to the hands that made you?

Peace.

 

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Encounters With Polar Bears, Macaws, and Other Writing Adventures

By Lynn Hare

I will take you from the nations and gather you from all the countries and bring you into your own land.

Ezekiel 36:24, ESV

I threw off the cold rainfall of Portland, Oregon last fall on a plane that touched down on a tarmac lined with palm trees in ninety-two degree Anaheim summer. At the hotel, the pool’s chlorine-laden mist beckoned with tendrils of playful wonder. A boy wearing a coontail hat dashed through the lobby, fists filled with Disneyabilia and Adventureloot.

For years, you and I have traveled many lands, praying for a regenerative spirit over truth-laden stories. Daily we accept the challenge for adventure from the Holy Spirit and transform Christendom—one chapter, one page, one word at a time.

Our passionate words of strength renew readers’ hope. Every time our keyboard hums, we offer a fresh encounter with a Jesus the world has never known. Through our diverse experiences, we explore ways to open hearts and minds to uncharted expanses of revelatory freedom. And as God crafts and shapes our voices, He releases creative ways for others to renew relationship with Him.

Our Pilot has dropped us (sometimes with parachutes and other times without) into the most unlikely terrain. This tribe of writers has braved the North Pole of frosty polar bear attacks in ice storms of rejection. We’ve conquered the parched trek of barren Sahara plains as sand filled our shoes when words would not come. We’ve cupped palms to our mouths and hurled questions at God across raging ravines and His Word has relentlessly echoed back.

We rush forward, drawn to the call of the vibrant-banded macaw in the heart of the Amazon rainforest of lush growth. Then we linger in the virtual aisles of Amazon.com, discovering volumes to devour, one plantain after another. Forerunners of grace, we become atmosphere changers, no matter what surprises the latitudes and longitudes of the future hold.

I pray that you and I forgive each other loudly and often. Let’s joyfully forgive and laugh at our own mistakes—and revel in them. May our readers catch and multiply His grace as it renews hearts, souls, and homes.

And as we peer through the binoculars from this vista, let’s ask, “Holy Spirit, where to next?”

 

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What Leadership Means to Me

By Matthew O’Connell 

I once thought events like Faith and Culture stem from one person. That one person alone makes all the plans and other people help execute it. My first meeting with the Faith & Culture Writers Conference leadership team quickly changed the view that I was inculcated with.

I attended the Faith & Culture Writers Conference last year. A friend heard that I enjoyed writing and asked if I wanted to go with her. I signed up only minutes after she told me, having no idea what to expect. I remember the anxious anticipation days before Faith and Culture. The event started with worship and I turned to my friend saying, “I thought this was a writing conference?” It appeared more like church than what I envisioned a writing conference would look like.  “When are we going to get to the good stuff?” I wondered.

But, I quickly found that writing is a form of worship, and God is the only good stuff one needs.

As William Young, the Friday night keynote speaker, began his talk, my posture changed from relaxed to sitting at the edge with my hands on my chin. I don’t remember blinking for the next 45 minutes. One thing he said stuck with me, something I will always remember: “I will never again ask God to bless what I am doing, but ask to be apart of what He is doing.”

After the first night concluded, I felt like Moses coming down from Mt. Sinai. My friend and I talked the entire ride home about the experience we just had. The next day I attended the breakout sessions, absorbing every piece of information I could. This is the first time I ever saw an agent in person. I heard of them vaguely, like some mythical sea creature that didn’t exist. A whole underworld of supportive writers, agents, mentors, and publishers were at my fingertips. I sat in the front row at every workshop so I can ask more questions.

I left the conference with a new appreciation, enthusiasm, and revival in my writing. I began writing everyday and have been ever since. I am currently on my third re-write of my memoir, and actively making posts on my blog. I stayed in contact with Cornelia, the conference director, and attended one of the monthly Writers Connection meetings she leads.

At one of those meetings, I came a half hour early and saw Cornelia and remembered her. Her enthusiasm and warmness makes it impossible to forget. I began talking about a writing contest I entered and how I think they are amazing. Interestingly, she told me, “We just discussed at our last leadership meeting how great it would be to have a writing competition this year at our conference. Would you want to help organize it?”

A week went by and I was unsure how serious her request was. None-the-less I was filled with ideas. I sent her a long message of all my ideas for the contest. She asked if I could attend the planning meeting the following evening. Luckily I wasn’t working and was able to join the leadership team.

As people began trickling in they didn’t even question my presence. We opened up in prayer and fellow team member Veylnn gave a short devotional on what the words Faith and Culture mean. The night before, Cornelia had sent us the itinerary for the meeting. I thought it was just for our reference and that we weren’t going to hit every point. Nope, we were going over every last detail. I had prepared a few vague ideas regarding the proposed writing contest.

We started discussing which people were speaking. As one idea was brought up, another person would give an idea. Slowly the conference began building one piece at a time, becoming its own separate entity from anything we imagined. No idea came from one person, but everything was constructed entirely as a collective effort. Each new idea was spoken louder, with more enthusiasm than the last. We were almost jumping out of our seats; “What if we had a panel of blogger mentors?” and so on.  Slowly the conference was falling into place.

This conference no longer belonged to us. It was God’s. We were just the vehicles he chose to deliver his message. Cornelia at one point said, “I don’t know how this is going to work, I am just trusting God He will provide.” I couldn’t count the number of times she and everyone in the group said this. Trusting God’s plan for this conference was a huge a theme through every step of the process.

Each time we met as a leadership planning team, I became closer with the other members, more than I thought I could in such a short amount of time. I learned that leadership isn’t about any isolated person, or idea, it is the collective effort of every person. A machine with God at the heart of it.

I reflected on when Paul Young talked about only being a part of God’s plan. Throughout this whole process we utterly depended on God and only wanted His will to be done, that He would invite us into his grace. God delivered far more than I deserve. It was clear from the very beginning God has had (and is having) His hands on every stage of the process for this conference.

When we get to together for leadership meetings it gets progressively longer as we share our hearts with each other. I am so thankful to be surrounded by so many God-loving writers and friends. I wake up every morning thankful that God has placed so many amazing, supportive, loving people in my life.