When’s the last time you did something terrifying? {Thursday Thoughts for Writers}

For me, it was last Saturday.  Navigating the traffic and unquestioningly following my phone’s female voice through Denver, I pulled in the parking lot.  Turning off the ignition, I took a deep breath, straightened my clothes and went inside.  My first writing conference

At least we don’t actually have to write, I thought. 

Then they might discover my secret–that I am an amateur who is still struggling to label myself  “writer.”  The atrium was filled with people who were chatting, rifling through the materials and munching on pastries as I wandered around trying to look busy.  Introvert writers are not ones to shoot the breeze with petrified newbies. 

This conference was unique in that it was a collection of men and women who were mainly from Colorado who all had one other thing in common: Christ.  We were there not only to grow in craft and practice, but in vision.

Having survived the conference (which ended up being very mild on the scale of truly “terrifying” life events), these are three things that greatly impacted my vision as a Christian writer:

1. Give the mundane its “beautiful due”
John Blase began his session with this quote:

“My only duty was to describe reality as it had come to me, to give the mundane its beautiful due.” 
~John Updike 


He asked each of us in the room the reason why we write and shared about two authors he loves, Kent Haruf and Richard Hugo, who have mastered making the mundane beautiful.

At the end of his session, my worst fears materialized: we actually had to write.  He asked us to write for five minutes about a very ordinary topic–our favorite pair of shoes.  As the published novelists and authors shared their five minute scribblings, I was astounded by the magnificent words they had crafted in such a short time.  One woman somehow connected red shoes with the death of her mother and had us all in tears.  It was amazing.  Needless to say, I didn’t volunteer, but simply hoped that some of the talent in that room would seep into me.

But it inspired me to see my life through a new lens instead of trying to escape it to find something more fantastical and adventurous. 

2. Take a risk
James Rubart led a session called “Stepping Out of the Shadows” where he shared a story about overcoming a personal fear.  He challenged us to “flip,” or do the scary thing that we’ve been avoiding doing as way of exercising the freedom from fear and bondage that we have in Christ.  He shared the following quote:

“You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.”
~Ray Bradbury 


Through the Parable of the Talents, Rubart pointed out that our idea of success is very different from God’s and that God is more likely to ask, “With what you’ve been given, did you try?”  This was very much in line with what God has been showing me lately about writing, so I was grateful for more encouragement to keep moving forward as a writer. 

3. Don’t write for God or about God, write with God
Allen Arnold led a session about living in the “orphan realm” vs. living in the “freedom realm.”  He reminded us that through Christ, God awakens orphans to their true identity to live in freedom. 

He also emphasized that the creative process is never meant to be done alone.  “If you can do it without God, you’re dreaming too small,” he said.  He emphasized that the writer has the privilege of co-creating with God as we write the story we’re living.

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I drove the hour home Saturday in silence, soaking the truth, absorbing the words that had been spoken audibly and inaudibly to my soul all day.  Peace.  Joy.  Holy motivation. 

Permission.  The thing I most needed and need every day so far as a writer.  Permission to write.  Reminders that this is good.  That God is smiling.  That we are in this together.

 
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What terrifying thing are you avoiding doing?   

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Linking up with Coffee for Your Heart and Literacy Musing Mondays

On Thursdays this year, I’ll share thoughts, tips and inspiration for writers.  I’m certainly not an expert, but am simply seeking personal encouragement in this art and want to share with anyone who’s also trying to find their way as a writer.  These short posts will come from books, articles, the Bible, my own thoughts, and other people.  Check back each week or subscribe for new posts.  Please introduce yourself in the comments–I’d love to meet you and hear about your thoughts on writing.

Happy writing!
Leslie

When I Forget to Notice People

Lately, I feel like God is reminding me to notice.  Notice detail, notice people, notice Him. Because I haven't been.

Lately, I feel like God is reminding me to notice.

Notice detail, notice people, notice Him. Because I haven’t been. And noticing is a prerequisite to thankfulness, praise, worship and action. I’m bumping along life without recognition, like the blind man who wasn’t completely healed and saw people walking around that looked like trees. I need Jesus to restore my vision completely. Because I have forgotten how to SEE people.

As I reach around my one-year-old strapped to my front, searching for my wallet and watching for my three-year-old who is most likely pulling all the chip bags off the stand or smearing the display case glass with finger prints, it catches me off guard when the cashier behind the counter asks me, “How is your day going?” or “Have you had a good morning?” The first few times this happened after moving to Colorado, I’m sure I just looked at them with my mouth hanging slightly open. Chicago is not an unfriendly city, but perfect strangers didn’t usually ask me such personal questions. How was I supposed to answer?

But the question, though I now realize was not a true venture into how I am feeling at the current moment, rocked me, because I hadn’t even noticed a person was there until they spoke to me. Worse, I would have gone through our entire interaction without even looking them in the eye.

In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis says, “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which,if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”

People are eternal.  And every.single.one. is made in the image of God Himself.  So when I don’t see people, I don’t see God.

Lately, I have not only failed to notice strangers, but I have even forgotten to notice the people who are right in front of me–my children and husband.  Now, I believe in rest, alone time, naps and hobbies, but I have begun ignoring my children even during times when I could be fully present with them.  Scrolling Facebook during bath time, texting while I sit with them on the floor, and spacing out when they ask me questions, I spend the day lamely multi-tasking when I would be better off focusing on one activity at a time–mainly, my children.  And I’m missing out.   

And though love is not a fairy tale, how often do I take a second and really gaze into my husband’s eyes?  How often do I think about him during the day or sit and talk with him face-to-face instead of operating in survival mode, ticking off tasks as we work side-by-side?  When did I stop leaving him little love notes or sweet texts?  Have I prayed for him today, yesterday or anytime recently? 

The word I’ve chosen to focus on this year is “enjoy,” which begins with noticing.  When I set aside my phone and to-do lists and intentionally notice people, I can begin to enjoy the people all around me.  

If I would only ACCEPT that the pace of my life right now with two kids under three needs to be slower than I’ve ever been used to, I’ll begin to notice God in the details more than I ever have.  For nature, strangers, friends, family, my children and my husband are really displays of the splendor of God at work all around me.  If I will only take the time to notice. 


Do you notice people?

How do you notice God?

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Lately, I feel like God is reminding me to notice.  Notice detail, notice people, notice Him. Because I haven't been.


What Love Looks Like After 5 Years of Marriage

My husband and I just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary and our love is so different from the mushy ideals presented in the fairy tales I loved as a girl.

I’m not sure yet how I feel about having my daughter get into princesses, princes, and fairy tales.  The first princess items made their way into our home recently and to be honest, I inwardly groaned when they did.  This is new to me, so the jury’s still out, but I want my daughter to know what love really looks like.   My husband and I just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary and our love is so different from the mushy ideals presented in the fairy tales I loved as a girl.

My husband compliments me, but he does not complete me.  He fills in so many voids, but does not meet every desire of my heart.  

Instead, love looks like changing sheets–twice–together at 2 am after your son has vomited all over them.  It is the inordinate delight of having someone make and deliver coffee to you as you sit nursing a baby before the sun has come up.  It is someone who lets you put your icy cold feet on them as you are curled together in a C as you fall asleep.  Love is a husband who eats anything you put in front of him and never makes fun of or criticizes you–ever.  

Love is being told you look beautiful when you can’t remember if you brushed your hair, are not wearing make-up and are certainly wearing the same hoody you wore three out of the last seven days. It is praying and seeking community together.  It is catching each other’s eye across the room when your son says something hilarious and you are trying to be serious and not crack a smile.  

It is having a constant in your life after years of being alone.  My mom reminded me of a time many years ago when I had to sign a heap of paperwork at the hospital and I just started crying and said, “THIS is why I want a husband.  So I don’t have to do all of this by myself!”  I had similar feelings when I had to drag all my luggage with me into airport bathrooms, fill up my gas in -15 degree weather, pay bills, figure out my taxes (I gave up, to be honest–thank you, dad…), and viciously guard my possessions when traveling alone in China.  I prayed for someone who would BE with me in life’s transitions.  Someone I wouldn’t have to explain my complex web of relationships and history to.  A constant would be there for holiday meals and wouldn’t send my host rushing to pull up the “extra” chair because I made our numbers odd. 

Love is in the physical intimacy that you share, though I’ve been shocked by how much NOT like the movies it is.  Hollywood conveniently leaves out the humanizing moments of laughter over surprising bodily noises, mishaps, head and teeth bumps and the aspects that just don’t work, in spite of your aspirations towards creativity.  The movies don’t account for the mess of it all (in so many senses).  But love is in those times, too, imperfect as they are, as they give you an opportunity to connect on bad days and good days.  On days when it feels like the world is going to end and you can’t trust politicians or world leaders to keep you protected, there is comfort in the nearness of another human soul and the closest connection two humans can have.  It is a taste of Eden in a world of chaos.  A vulnerable love that sheds your skin of shame.  That leaves you feeling loved because you are accepted and celebrated in your nakedness.

Love looks like understanding and doing what you can to meet each other’s needs, whether that be for  deep conversation, sex, alone time, or just the need to meet a craving for French Fries or a cup of coffee (even if it means driving 10 miles out of the way).  It is knowing that your husband is an introvert and wants to shut down after an evening with people, but that your wife, an extrovert, will want to chatter away for an hour after you get home.  Love tries to understand that you have different thresholds for people that you need to make allowances for as you schedule your time.

These are the moments I actually longed for when I was single–not the sweep-me-off-my-feet, passionate thrill of love, but the togetherness, the commitment, the security of knowing that someone would love me, respect me and serve me even on the rough days.  Love is having a man to share about my day with and offer to cook me omelets when I am exhausted and standing dejectedly in front of the refrigerator at dinner time.   It is being parents, lovers, friends, partners, co-conspirators, and each other’s greatest fans.  

It is a piece of art made up of a thousand moments recorded, which together tell the story of love.

After five years of marriage, this is what love looks like for us.  We are tired, have made personal sacrifices, put passions on the shelf and are still working on communicating well.  So though life is perhaps not being lived perfectly “happily ever after,” I am sometimes made to feel like a princess in disguise.   

What does love look like for you?  I’d love to hear some real life examples in the comments!

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My husband and I just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary and our love is so different from the mushy ideals presented in the fairy tales I loved as a girl.

 

Goodbye to the Other Leslies

I really thought my life as a nearly 37-year-old would look very different from the way it actually looks today.  

As a 20-year-old, let’s say, I envisioned my future self as living in another country, speaking another language and having a family with bi (or tri)-lingual children.  I planned on raising them to love other cultures, attend local schools, eat ethnic foods and travel the world.  We would possibly even live without plumbing.  And my husband would be right there beside me–leading people to Christ and possibly even preaching or teaching in other languages.  That’s how it was supposed to go.

And if I stayed single? (my plan B) I’d get my PhD and have lots of disciple “children” in another country, like Amy Carmichael, who was a single missionary in an orphanage in India for over 50 years.

Oh how God has a sense of humor.

Though I was on that very path, God U-turned my life six years ago to bring me back exactly where I started (or so I thought).  And I found myself living a life I never dreamed I’d live:  an “ordinary” one.


The crossroads of life have a catch.  Once you pass them, you can never go back. 

I recently listened to a podcast called Sorta Awesome that talked about saying goodbye to all of your potential yous that never came into existence.  And I feel it’s time that I bid those other Leslies adieu.

I really thought my life as a nearly 37-year-old would look very different from the way it actually looks today.

 
Goodbye to the single Leslie who would change the world.

Goodbye to the Leslie who would marry someone of another race and have gorgeous bi-racial children.

Goodbye to the Leslie who would marry someone in full-time ministry.

Goodbye to the Leslie who would get a PhD studying an ethnic minority in northwest China.

Goodbye to the Leslie who would be a social worker (my first major).

Goodbye to the Leslie who would transform the inner city of Chicago through her badass teaching methods…think Dangerous Minds (I tried that, actually, and that Leslie didn’t materialize).

Goodbye to the Leslie with 6, 8 or 10 children (probably not biologically possible for me anymore), or the Leslie who would be the “mom of boys” or “mom of girls” (I have a boy and a girl).

Goodbye to the Leslie who would be a nurse (I got accepted to nursing school, but didn’t go).

Goodbye to what could have been.

Hello and welcome to what is.  To what God has done, is doing and will do.   

Thank God for the roads taken and the roads not taken.  Because at every crossroads, He was there.  He was pointing, guiding, urging, leading and holding my hand, whether I knew it or not.  

Goodbye, fair Leslies.  Those would have been good lives, too, were they what God had planned for me.  It turns out He wanted me to be a teacher, live for a time in China, be single for a season, finally marry an actor in Chicago, have two adorable stinkers, move to Colorado and begin a little blog

And “ordinary” is relative, after all.  This Saturday night, I cooked dinner to James Taylor in the background, with my one-year-old daughter on my hip, helping me deliver cardamom, cumin, coriander and turmeric to the counter to make chickpea curry.  Meanwhile, my sick husband was curled up with tea, a cozy blanket and a book at the kitchen table.  

In the other room, our son played with our former Saudi Arabian exchange student, laughing and making trucks talk back and forth.  My daughter got bored “cooking” and dove into the cardboard box in the living room that is our best new toy.  

Earlier in the day, we all squashed into our Corolla to drive 45 minutes up into the snow-covered mountains to Rocky Mountain National Park, pausing on turn-outs for breath-catching views.  We put the kids to bed after dinner and conversations about the intersections of Muslim and Christian theology and melted into the couch to watch a new British murder mystery T.V. series. 

Yes, our life is ordinary.  But ordinary is the way your foot eventually molds grooves into stiff shoes.  It is the way a gorgeous new dress gradually becomes “you” and a natural part of your wardrobe.  “Ordinary” for us does not look like “ordinary” for others.  In fact, your “ordinary” may be very exotic to me, and vice versa.  Ordinary is no longer a bad word to me.

Though I am not changing the world at a macro level, love, cultures, food, friends, laughter and challenges are happening at a micro level under my roof just as they would have had I found myself on another path.  This is the Leslie that God intended to be.  So I will stop turning to look back at those other Leslies that could have been and allow them to fade into the distance, granting them a fond, but firm farewell.  I do not regret a single road taken.  Though life is not as I expected, it is still pretty spectacular, even in all its ordinary-ness. 


What about you?  How does your life look different (so far) from what you had planned for yourself?  How have you seen the grace in that?  I’d love to read your stories in the comments!

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I really thought my life as a nearly 37-year-old would look very different from the way it actually looks today.

What No One Told Me About Breastfeeding

Before I had a baby, I hadn't conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life.

When you are pregnant, there is no lack of doomsday warnings and terrible tales passed on in attempts to crush the spirit of the rosy-cheeked and hopeful mom-to-be.  So by the time I had my first child, my expectations were super low.  I was about to ruin my life.

And though I knew I wanted to breastfeed and was committed to it no matter what, I dreaded the soreness, time and late nights that everyone gave me dire warnings about.  

So I was floored to make a discovery after my son was born:  I loved it.

With my son, I planned on nursing for a year, but when that year came and went, I realized I didn’t have an endgame.  And I really enjoyed nursing, so I wasn’t eager to wean him.  I was thankful when he suddenly lost interest and weaned himself at 16 months.   

Now, I’m considering weaning my 17-month-old daughter, so I’m feeling nostalgic.  If we don’t have other children, these may be my last days of nursing a baby, which pulls on my mama heart in ways that watching our children grow can simultaneously bring us delight and sadness.

I know there are reasons people are not able to nurse their babies, but I wanted to write about some of the joy I personally found in nursing.

The Beauty
Before I had a baby, I hadn’t conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life.  To know that the milk I gave my baby was tailored to their specific age and developmental needs and even contained antibodies to fight off diseases and potential threats in our home gave me peace at a time when I often wondered if I was doing everything right.

I first read the book Babywise, which advocated a strict schedule and strongly discouraged demand feeding.  I did try and feed each of my children on a schedule of sorts, but I am so glad I read another book on breastfeeding, The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding (don’t be deterred by the cheesy title).  Reading this changed my perspective on breastfeeding and taught me to trust my body and trust my baby.

Nursing is the most beautiful thing I have ever done with my body.  Yes, the act that brought this baby into existence was beautiful and good, but making love takes effort and requires you to be actively engaged in the process.  But nursing is a passive generosity (especially as you and baby get stronger), requiring the simple offer of yourself, cradling of your child, drinking in their new baby scent, nuzzling their soft peach fuzz head and allowing yourself to relax in the natural mystery of womanhood.    

Night Vigils and Sleep Fasting
Though the tiredness struggle was more real with my second child, with my first baby, I thought about my evening vigils as “sleep fasting.”  I tried not to complain to people the next day about my lack of sleep just as a fasting person shouldn’t complain about how hungry they are.  My sleep was my sacrifice to God and to my baby.  And God met me in the watches of the night as my husband slept and I and my baby listened to clocks tick, cars make their way home from clubs, bars and social visits and the old apartment creak in the night.  When else do you sit awake in the middle of the night and do nothing but listen?

Solitude
As the feedings have become less frequent with each child, I find that I miss having an excuse to escape a crowd full of people to nurse my baby.  Not that I haven’t done my share of public nursing (I’m a fan of using a cover, but admire women who whip it out–more power to you!), having nursed in parks, bathroom stalls, store dressing rooms, restaurants, movie theaters, mall benches and numerous parking lots.  But there have also been plenty of church services, parties and weddings where I have been able to sneak away with my baby and allow myself to melt into the scene of mama and baby alone at last. 

Now, my daughter’s body hardly fits on my lap and I can tell that she is not getting much milk at each feeding.  She is a busy toddler and barely slows down during the day enough to sit on my lap anymore.  So I continue to hold on those few times a day she still nurses and I can’t deny her when she gives me the sign language sign for nursing.  I’m going by the “don’t offer, don’t refuse” method of weaning.  So for now I will hold her squishy little girl body, with her wispy blond pig tales tickling my nose and her chubby hands grabbing my shirt and nurse her for just a few more days.  Just a few.

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Before I had a baby, I hadn't conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life.Before I had a baby, I hadn't conceived of how amazing it would be to use my body in such a raw and mystical way to completely sustain another life.

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