Last fall got a little crazy. I was writing a Mentor's Guide to be published along with my book, Brand New. I was promoting Brand New. I had many speaking opportunities and was able to teach classes. My days were crammed with pouring out in teaching and writing. The instant my kids were home I was pouring into them as we navigated homework, sports, and all the details of raising four kids, often while Sean was traveling for work. It was intense but all things I was made for.
Even though I loved all of it, I've been in ministry and parenting long enough to know output with minimal input is not sustainable. When I was able to get my feet under me again, I determined to focus on input before I burnt out or exhausted myself . One of my fun resolutions was to read a variety of books. They had to be interesting but they couldn't all be the same genre. 2018 isn't over, but here are some of the books that have been on my shelf:
Historical fiction is my favorite genre. Mad respect to authors who spend years researching and imagining to put together believable, compelling stories that suck me in. I'm even more impressed when I learn history and geography without even realizing it until the end. I was mesmerized by Doerr's story telling. Incredible. It crawled into my dreams at night and I found myself rethinking pieces throughout the day.
Hemingway's life fascinates me. Starving writer to world traveler to international spy–he couldn't write anything quite as interesting as he lived it. This memoir confirms his self indulgence. Hotchner doesn't skate around Hemingway's sins; he tells of Hemingway in an honest way that made me identify with a man who I have only a few things in common with. This specific story is a personal one of sweet first love and lifelong regrets. Even though I was frustrated at his self involvement, I cried in the last chapters.
I couldn't very well cry for Hemingway and not follow it with reading one of his novels. Farewell to Arms is one of his most notable works but I'm telling you–his life was more interesting to me than this story. His rhythm of writing (particularly dialogue) was a lot to take in and hard for me to identify with. That being said, historical fiction in time of war draws me so it wasn't a loss.
Humes has instant credibility in teaching about speeches and leadership with this title. What are epic speeches without Gettysburg or Churchill? I tried to read this one in small doses so I could implement some of the points before moving on. It was still too much to absorb–I'll be revisiting it.
"Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy." -W.Churchill
I've studied quite a bit about the effects of trauma on young brains. Most of my studying has focused on the emotional and cognitive effects. Out of that, I've learned a lot about helping young brains heal through attachment, therapies, early interventions. When I saw Dr. Burke Harris' Ted Talk on the medical perspective she developed on the effects of childhood diversity, I couldn't stop sharing it. Watch the Ted Talk. If you're interested in more background and where the research and experience is headed now, get the book.
One of my favorite quotes that Moore included in his book was, "The advice I like to give young artists or really anybody who'll listen to me, is not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work." –Chuck Close. Moore writes about how ego and desires inevitably lead to writer's block and self loathing. Oh man, I needed to hear that. The word "mindful" in the title could have tipped me off that the author was Buddhist, but it didn't. Many of his points still applied to me–I just have a God higher than mindfulness and guidance more sure than my own.
Another historical fiction book; this one opened my eyes to the Spanish flu pandemic in 1918, made real by dynamic (fictional) characters. My 13 year old saw it on the counter, picked it up, and was sucked in, too. I advised against it–the imagery was disturbing to me and I imagined it would be for her, too. She went ahead and we couldn't stop talking about it. We ended up doing more reading on the pandemic after we finished the book.
The cover looks like every book my parents had in our home library from 1988-1998. I didn't completely agree with a few of the Scripture interpretations, but the principles and heart behind finances was helpful. Financial decisions tend to cause me stress and I've been working (praying) through a lot of my attitudes about money. Not my pleasure reading, but important in challenging and surrendering things that aren't easy for me.
This is kind of fun reading...for my nerdy teacher side. It's the second book I've read by Dr. Bauer. I'm drawn to her work because she is passionate about education but doesn't love our current educational system. She thinks outside of the box and challenges me to be intentional in my kids' education, regardless of what form it takes. I quote her a lot.
It feels like cheating but I listened to this book! Audio books are a joke because my life has constant interruptions, but Sean had a brilliant idea to listen to this on our road trip home from Montana this summer. A couple kids slept and a couple listened with us. "Love God, love people" is not a new idea but Bob Goff does a magnificent job through story telling and practical application, bringing the greatest commandments home. I'd still like to skim a hard copy, being a visual learner I think I might retain more than just the stories that way.
There you have it; random readings of my year. If you have recommendations for what I should add to my "what to read next" list...have at it!
I appreciate this movement I’ve seen, mainly in social media, of no mom shaming. No judging; no looking down our noses at the moms we see out in the world doing their best. Yes! As the mom who has dripped sweat dragging screaming toddlers out of the store, as the mom who has lost a child in the pig barn at the county fair, the mom who has chaperoned a field trip and cringed when realizing, “My child is the loudest child in this class. Eesh.”, as the mom who once went to the ER twice in one week (each time with a different son), I say, “Yes! Don’t judge me! Celebrate my efforts! Understand that I’m doing the best I know to do with the tools I have and the kids I’ve been given!”
Simultaneously, I want to guard against another attitude that occasionally comes on the heels of, “I accept where you’re at!” That attitude is, “You deserve to slack. The fact that you are a mom is enough. Putting forth minimal effort is enough.” Pretty soon I give myself permission to say, “Eh. I tried. I survived and my kids survived. Pour me a drink!” The bar lowers. "I’m not the only mom surfing instagram instead of engaging my family. It's not like this parenting thing is a paying gig." The attitude grows until I find it funny to make fun of high achieving moms who get their kids to school on time with shoes tied. “If you’re succeeding, you aren’t my people!” I have my own snarky pride in being marginally "good enough”. I'm not alone if I've given up and let video games take over by the end of summer break. In fact, other moms commiserate and I'm validated! My efforts slow. No big deal.
I’ve put a lot of thought and prayer into my attitude as a mom. Can I have tremendous grace with myself? I’m raising souls, not churning out a product. It’s messy. It’s dependent on God’s forgiveness and His direction. It reveals my own sin and weaknesses. It’s hard. I want the freedom to be honest that this is difficult, often dirty, exhausting work!
The Mentor's Guide to my devotional, Brand New; a 40 Day Guide to Life in Christ, is ready for purchase!
The job of this book is to enhance the first. The Mentor's Guide is what I wish I would’ve had in my hand when I started youth ministry more than 15 years ago. It’s what I wish I had in hand during college when my roommate and I were having conversations about new faith. It’s what I wish I had in hand every fall when we trained leaders how to effectively lead small groups.
My first book, Brand New; a 40-Day Guide to Life in Christ is a 40 day devotional. It’s practical and walks through the basics of Christian faith; the story of the Bible, the character of God, and the practices of Christian life. Each day has Scripture to read, questions to answer, and a prayer. The book is a great tool for small groups or mentoring relationships because it provides opportunity for discussion and reflection.
I wrote the Mentor’s Guide, because I know it can be intimidating to lead someone (or a group) through a Bible study when you don’t have all the answers, are unsure how to structure it, and feel like a little back up would be nice. If you think, "I'm a leader and I'm ready!" this book is for you. If you think, "I'm not a leader and I'm terrified to lead another person!" this book is for you.
Jesus is clear that we are called to make disciples. He isn’t just talking to pastors and leaders–He’s talking to all of us! The Mentor’s Guide will help you walk through the basics of faith with anyone. In the section of tips for leaders you can glean tips for awkward silence, distractions and how to make the most of your time. For each day of the study, the Mentor’s Guide has additional Scripture, possible answers and tips for the questions the book asks, and the big picture for the day you’re studying.
To purchase Brand New and/or the Mentor’s Guide, you can check out amazon (click any links on the blog home page or the "Brand New" page on the top of the blog) or at lexhampress.com you can buy both books as a bundle (lexhampress.com often has the best deal). If you’re considering using Brand New for a large group, contact Lexham Press for bulk purchases.
Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matt 28:19–20)
My sister was born 19 months after me, yet somehow managed to snag a few firstborn tendencies. She took the punctual, straight A’s, high achieving perfectionism. I’m not sad. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to carry all of that anyway. For years I thought that being more laid back meant I had dodged the traditional firstborn traits.
Now I realize even if I didn’t get straight A’s, I can’t escape my own firstborn tendencies. I often feel overly responsible for the people I love (they may call it controlling?). I’m reliable, typically play it safe, and I lean toward being a bit of a moralist; I care a lot about doing the right thing.
The desire to make the right decisions can lead to mustering up effort. Historically, I’ve exhausted myself trying to do what is right; “I should want to save money and make wise financial decisions.” “I should go to college.” “I should get to bed at a decent time. I should eat more vegetables.”
The door to the suburban swung open and Everett jumped in after a full day with friends. He was tired but already mid-story. After we debriefed about his day, he asked what had been going on at home all day. I told him a few things we had done and then I added, “It was weird to have you gone all day, Everett! Our house is not the same when you aren’t in it.”
“Yes! This morning Haley said, “I wish Everett was here to play on the trampoline with me.” Then I heard Hudson say it feels strange to not have you here when we were eating lunch. Hobbes definitely is sad when you’re gone-no one wrestles with that dog like you do.”
I went on to tell Everett that his sense of humor is missed when he’s gone. “Plus, I didn’t trip over any collections all day. What am I supposed to do without your collections at my feet?” I teased.
This is a typical conversation I have with each kid nearly every time they’re gone for a considerable amount of time. It’s a conversation I have very intentionally. Sean and I were involved in youth ministry for a decade and a half. One thing that broke my heart repeatedly was how discarded so many of our teens feel. Many of them don’t feel missed when they’re gone. They don’t feel valuable and don’t know that they have something unique to offer. Their homes consist of people going separate directions and not establishing any community or united purpose under their own roof. The lack of purpose contributes to feelings of worthlessness, depression, and a disconnect to community. I vowed to point out to each of my kids their value and place in our family every chance I get.
2017 slipped away during a power outage. We were a few days into the power outage when the inside of our dark house dipped to 40 degrees. I told everyone to pack an overnight bag and we headed to my sister’s. Sean was d.j.ing a swanky party; my kids watched the ball drop with their cousins at 9pm and fell asleep soon after. No fan fare and no quiet moments of reflection (which is my favorite New Year’s tradition).
I'm not content to let 2017 disappear without acknowledgement. I went into 2017 with bleary eyes. A year ago, when I prayed for 2017, words came to mind like “celebration” and “visible evidence of what has been internal work.” I barely dared hope and I didn’t really have a reason to believe it was true.
2016 had worn me down. My parents divorced after more than 40 years of marriage. My mom remarried within months and my dad was dating and would also remarry less than a year after finalizing the divorce. My father-in-law had a bad fall and brain bleed. Sean stayed for an extended time in Portland as we teetered between fear that we would lose him, and gratitude as he recovered. At the end of 2016 we were moving my father-in-law into assisted living in our town and helping him sort through finances, a house sale, and belongings. We were pulling through an intense season of youth ministry, feeling like crisis and losses were coming too fast to process.
Twenty years ago this month on a hot August day I drove my ’89 Ford Tempo (with no air conditioning) 268 miles north, following a procession of U-hauls and cars to my new hometown of Lynden, Washington.
We had only visited Lynden a couple times before the move. The first visit was late spring of ’97. My parents were in the front of the suburban and I was sandwiched in the back with my younger sister and two brothers.
We were hit with the smell before we hit the town. Lynden is known for it’s dairies and berries, which means spring is the season for spreading manure. “Oh GROSS! Roll up the windows! That is RIPE!” We were all gagging.
“Does it always smell like this?”
We looked at each other with wide eyes as Mom and Dad laughed at us. My brother Elijah, known to be slightly dramatic, closed his lips tightly. “I can taste it. It will actually get stuck in my teeth. You can CHEW it!”
“Do you think we’d get used to it smelling like this if we lived here?”
“No way. We better not. No way. Let’s always call it. If we always say “I smell that!” then we’ll never let ourselves get used to it.”
We couldn’t stop laughing. The tension and emotion of the unknown, the questions that needed answering that weekend to determine if we’d move from one end of Washington to another, bubbled up and came out as laughter as we watched cow shit spraying out of sprinklers.
Moving a week before my senior year of high school started was less than ideal and had plenty of heartbreak accompanying it, but still I was enamored with the little Dutch town we had landed in. Everything was closed on Sunday, but the cops were out ready to ticket people speeding to church. The lawns were immaculate. (Yes, the rumors are true–there are laws here about keeping your lawn under 7 inches.) The windmill on Front St. was charming. The entire town showed up for the high school football jamboree and there were an abnormal amount of tall blondes.
I’m Dutch but I didn’t grow up in a Dutch town. Arriving in Lynden had an interesting type of familiarity. The houses were immaculate like my grandma’s house. The Dutch Bakery had treats I recalled from holidays as a kid. The work ethic was admirable. I recognized the Dutch brogue in many of the older generation and it reminded me of sitting at my grandfather’s kitchen table.
Writing a book while raising four children, managing a household of at least seven people and a dozen animals, doing some teaching here and there, while my husband transitions to a new job…has been no joke. It’s no joke but it has, at times, been comical. Sometimes comical in a “Ha-ha” way and sometimes comical in an “Oh my word, I’m losing my hair” way.
Today Brand New; a 40 day Guide to Life in Christ is released! That means I get the “You are Special” plate at dinner tonight. It also means you can buy the book on amazon today (or at lexhampress.com if you want to increase my royalties a bit)!
Due to the craziness mentioned above, I completely missed my deadline to do dedications and acknowledgments. This book needs some acknowledgements because it’s been a work in process for a decade. The perk of doing this on my blog is I can drag it out as long as I please…
Thank you my cheerleading family. Sean–it was our partnership in ministry that opened our eyes to the need for this book. You’ve allowed me the space to keep writing, creating, editing, and listened to me process all of it. You’ve used your platform to further this work and you’ve even moved over a bit on stage for me to have some room. Thanks for that.
My parents who thought my writing was amazing when I was nine and writing stories about the models in the Sears catalogue–thank you for watching my kids, helping me put structure to this devotional, and celebrating every little step.
My kids who love to embarrass me in public by proclaiming, “My mom is an author” to people we don’t know–thank you for being my guinea pigs as you study the Word using Brand New. Thank you for obeying when I put the “Shhh! Creativity in progress!” sign on my bedroom door.
My siblings (and siblings-in-law) along with my extended family–you have held me up not just in writing a book, but in the chaos of life. Jasmine and Sommer–you’ll never get back all the hours of life you’ve spent listening to me think through this book. Just think…I might write another one and we can do it all again!
My lifelong friends–you ask deep questions, grow my faith, fix my grammar, keep me on my toes, and mock me for my boxes of journals. Thanks for bringing this idealist back to earth and for celebrating with me.
Jeanne Halsey–you were my writing mentor before I knew I needed a writing mentor. You pushed me when only a few people knew I liked to write. You taught me endless logistics of writing and publishing. More than that, you’ve modeled using your gifts for God’s glory and allowing Him to use you how He designs. Thank you for answering questions I didn’t know to ask.
The first edition was called A;life. It was half the size and put together by our talented friends so we could use it in our own youth ministry. Thank you Kimberly Martinson, Caitlin Roeter, Rob Hull, and Gerrit Boyle for making a booklet cool enough to pass out to students. I thought that was as far as it would ever go.
Last year when I decided to expand and self publish, Lisa Oliver (and Evan!) came up with the name Brand New and some killer design work. Marti Eide proofread the text. Thank you for using your gifts, for your support, and friendship! I thought that was as far as it would ever go.
Lexham Press, thanks for a fantastic first experience in the publishing world. Todd Hains–I have much respect for your editing work. You were open minded in catching my vision, my voice, and were willing to wrestle through it with me when we didn’t see eye to eye. Jennifer Stair, Joel Wilcox, Bryan Hintz, Brannon Ellis–you’re a great team. Thank you for pouring your skills and enthusiasm into this with me. Let’s do it again…?
It was terrifying to write a simple book on such foundational aspects of faith. I asked God to provide this type of book. When I couldn’t find one I said, “Lord, I’ll write it but only if you show me what it should look like.” When I attempted my first outline I said, “Lord, I have nothing. You’re going to have to get this thing going.” I prayed over each day I wrote. When I sat down to write a day on “God is a Trinity”, I fought it. “Lord, you have some fantastic theologians and there is not a chance I can offer anything here.” I drank ridiculous amounts of coffee in every Woods Coffee shop in town. I wrestled, prayed, asked God for direction. I read until sentences blurred together. Each time I got stuck, I humbly came back, asking God for what’s next. Each time, He graciously answered. I’ll never have words for the sweetness I've experienced asking God to use the small piece I offer, and watching Him multiply it far beyond what I expect.
*Drawing by my daughter, Darla Taylor
When you’re raised in church and have heard the crucifixion and resurrection countless times from all four gospels, even memorizing parts of it, it’s easy to arrive at Easter with a “same ol’, same ol’” perspective. I usually ask God to show me something new–whether in the story itself or the way that it stirs my soul.
Yesterday after reading about the soldiers dividing up Jesus’ clothing and the humiliation that accompanied being bruised, beaten, naked, and mocked in front of the masses, my friend Melissa read an excerpt from The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. Corrie and her sister Betsie suffered in a concentration camp during World War II. Corrie lived to write about the experience and God’s presence in it:
"Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory.
"Sometimes I would slip the Bible from its little (sack) with hands that shook, so mysterious had it become to me. It was new; it had just been written. I marveled sometimes that the ink was dry...I had read a thousand times the story of Jesus' arrest--how soldiers had slapped Him, laughed at Him, flogged Him. Now such happenings had faces and voices.
"Fridays--the recurrent humiliation of medical inspection. The hospital corridor in which we waited was unheated and a fall chill had settled into the walls. Still we were forbidden even to wrap ourselves in our own arms, but had to maintain our erect, hands-at-sides position as we filed slowly past a phalanx of grinning guards.
"How there could have been any pleasure in the sight of these stick-thin legs and hunger-bloated stomachs I could not imagine. Surely there is no more wretched sight than the human body unloved and uncared for.
"Nor could I see the necessity for the complete undressing: when we finally reached the examining room a doctor looked down each throat, another--a dentist presumably--at our teeth, a third in between each finger. And that was all. We trooped again down the long, cold corridor and picked up our X-marked dresses at the door.
"But it was one of these mornings while we were waiting, shivering in the corridor, that yet another page in the Bible leapt into life for me.
"He hung naked on the cross.
"...The paintings, the carved crucifixes showed at least a scrap of cloth. But this, I suddenly knew, was the respect and reverence of the artist. But oh--at the time itself, on that other Friday morning--there had been no reverence. No more than I saw in the faces around us now.
"'Betsie, they took His clothes too.'
"'Ahead of me I heard a little gasp. 'Oh, Corrie. And I never thanked Him…'
The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom
He hung naked on a cross. Voluntarily, He hung. With all my embarrassment, my shame, my nakedness, my failure, my sin; He hung. With all the power in the world to lower Himself and wipe out the mockers, He hung. Today, on Good Friday, I am struck that there was no reverence, no respect, no understanding that a bigger plan was in motion. There was chaos, devalued life, and nakedness.
Yet, Jesus wasn’t a victim of cruel, hardened soldiers and an angry people group, He was still the Almighty God with a plan. Easter's coming.
I was sitting in my discussion group at Bible Study, still a little distracted from a busy morning getting kids out the door. We were on the cusp of Sean changing jobs, I had a full week of projects, decisions, and the regular ins and outs of managing a household of seven. I had done my study, but a bit distractedly. My mind was already skipping ahead to the Costco trip I was planning that afternoon.
We were parked in John 10, the chapter about Jesus being the Good Shepherd. I tuned in as our group systematically answered the questions, “What would you conclude about Jesus and His identity from His words in John 10?” “What does Jesus give His sheep and why?”
Out of nowhere I was gut punched with a memory.
Hearing the questions out loud instantly transported me to another time I studied John, in this same place but seven years ago. Seven years ago I was living in a different town. I was in a different discussion group that met in a different room, but the set of questions was the same and that’s all it took to jar the memory. All year I’ve gone without thinking extensively about the study of John seven years ago…until the lesson on the Good Shepherd.
Seven years ago sucked. Everything was shaken. I had discovered hard things about my parent’s marriage and ugly things about their past. I felt like much of my childhood must have been a lie. I was trying to reconcile how to forgive the past when the past was bleeding all over the present. I was parenting three very small children while my own marriage had been drilled into the ground. I was stretched paying bills, stretched in the every day, with hard faith questions that needed answering. I was disoriented, defeated and beat up. I was curled up in my quiet time chair with my pile of regrets and “if only”s laid out on my lap. “Lord, I’m trying so hard to be faithful…why can’t I see you being faithful!?”
Just throwing myself out there a bit...