Category Archives: writing

“Beyond Cancer’s Scars” Part Two (writing the book)

“Out of your poverty, Elaine, surrender your pen.”

His words are as clear to me today as they were for me on that Friday night, June 10, 2011. The memory lingers fully . . . beautifully in my heart. Heavenly impressions are not easily forgotten. When God presses his fingerprints on to the pages of our stories—when God gives his directives with such clear and certain authority—there is a grace that comes alongside to solidify that moment and to grant us enough courage and trust to begin our obedience. It takes them both—courage and trust—for us to move forward, because God’s plans don’t always feel reasonable. Sometimes they feel impossible.

Such had been my week when I arrived to that Friday night a year ago, really my previous ten months. I’d stumbled my way through cancer treatments, emerging on the other side of them with more emotional scars than physical ones. Cancer not only strikes the flesh but also strikes the soul—the seat of human emotions. I didn’t notice my soul woundings until the other ones had subsided. It was then, when the silence came, that I began the process of untangling my pain. Some healings require more than stitches and band-aids. Some healings require the salve of time and a gentle Jesus.

On that Friday night, I recognized my profound need. I cried out to God for hope. I’d lost mine somewhere along the way. Oh, I masked it pretty well, even speaking to a group of cancer survivors earlier in the week, challenging them and charging them with hope’s rallying cry. But truth really does speak louder than words, and the truth was, I was losing ground. I wanted to give myself to something better, something higher, something more than the pain that was sucking me under, but I didn’t know how to fully get there. I only knew the first step to take—reading my Bible.

I opened up God’s Word to the bookmarked page and re-read the story I’d been chewing on for the better part of a week. A widow’s story from Luke 21. A story about her offering at the temple treasury—a gift not measured by human scales but a gift counted by God as “more than all the others.” I felt the hand of God squeeze tighter around my soul. It could not be ignored; only acknowledged, only received.

“Out of your poverty, Elaine, surrender your pen.”

And so I did. Right then. I gave God my heart, my insecurities, my words, and my promise that I would be faithful to write the witness of my cancer season, each day, until it was finished. Nothing about that obedience felt reasonable to me; instead, it felt like trust. In that moment, I knew that God wouldn’t fail me; he would help me—his power so effectively working in me would accomplish this, and in the end, it wouldn’t be about what I had done. It would be about everything he had done.

He did do it all. Each day for forty days during the hot, crowded season of summer, God showed up and pressed my thoughts into words and molded my cancer story into something that could be touched, held, and raised to the heavens as my Ebenezer, my “Thus far, the Lord has helped me” (see 1 Sam. 7:12). It was all a bit of a mess at the finish line. Forty days of intense writing leaves little time for editing and critique; that would come later. But on July 19, 2011, I knew it was a completed work and that it wasn’t meant just for me. Down to my last two coppers, I threw my “all” into the treasury of God’s temple, and the healing that took place in my heart can only be explained by the covenant Father who always makes good on his promises.

The writing was done; the hardest part was about to begin. On July 21, 2011, I packed up my suitcase, my messy manuscript, and my growing hope and headed out the door to see about a publisher—to see if anyone else might be willing to latch on to my story and bring it to the public. It didn’t take me long to figure out that writing a book is a whole lot easier than getting it published. But that’s another story for another day, another post—my next post.

Let me leave you with this final thought. If God has pressed his heart’s desire into your heart, if the Father has asked you for a hard obedience in this season (and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s him talking and not his competing counterfeit), then you can trust him with the outcome. Like the widow of Luke 21 and like me, you may be down to your last coppers. But when you do your banking with the King, you can be certain that he will make it count for all eternity. He who began a good work in you will be faithful to see it through to completion.

Count on it. Count on God. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

What’s in your hand, your heart, your dreams? What is God calling you to surrender into his temple treasury today? I’d love to pray for you.

“Beyond Cancer’s Scars” Part One (why I wrote this book)

We’re inching ever closer to the release of my 2nd book, Beyond Cancer’s Scars: Laying Claim to a Stronger Spirit. I say “we” because it has been a collective effort. No words, no stories are written in isolation. They may feel lonely at the time of their penning, but the truth is, our stories cannot be written without the benefit of one another. No one makes it into this world without the assistance of someone else. No one makes it through life without the influence of people.

 

God meant for us to live in community. We belong to one another. Accordingly, my story belongs to you and yours belongs to me. It’s how we grow; how we change; how we move forward and into a greater understanding about all of life. Oh sure . . . there are a few stories I could have done without (some authored by me, some written by others), but even in them—the skewed, chaotic, and unbalanced ones that foster similar responses in me—I grow. And I am grateful for it all, even when the story is painful. Especially then. Why? Because pain (when allowed) has a way of exponentially growing a heart that exceeds the normal route usually taken to get there. Not that we ask for it, but as pain arrives, we cede its reality to something greater, Someone greater, expecting that on the other side of our tears there will be more to the story than what currently wrecks the heart and stretches the soul.

Pain is a game changer in our lives. There’s no way around this reality. Some changes are good; some disastrous, but either way, pain alters the landscape of our hearts, minds, and souls. Courageous are those who are willing to allow pain to serve as a crucible for heaven’s increase rather than hell’s determined purposes.

So this is what I’ve done, how I’ve managed the torment of my last two years. I wrote my story while living it, believing that somewhere down the road, someone would need it as much as I have needed it. C.S. Lewis once said, “We read to know we are not alone.” If that’s true (and I really, really love his wisdom on this), then I’m inclined to believe that a person writes for the same reason . . . to know that he/she is not alone. The author writes; the reader reads. And when this happens, a community is formed.

Why did I write this book? Two reasons: for me; for you. I wrote it for us. In doing so, I’ve done it for God—the author of community. He wrote his story into mine a long time ago, and he promises to make mine count for all eternity, even when the story is painful. Especially then.

Over the next week or two, I’ll be delving further into the “story” behind the story—the particulars of how Beyond Cancer’s Scars came into being. I’ve been pretty quiet about it all—a silence provoked by need, a silence requested of me by God. But it’s time to move forward . . . to put some words forth so that you might be able to find a few lines of your story written somewhere in between the ones I’ve penned about mine. The ground beneath my feet and my heart has been tilled, and new sprouts are headed to the surface. It’s time to make ready for harvest.

There is life beyond cancer, friends. There is a stronger spirit that lies on the other side of suffering. Beyond Cancer’s Scars is part of my journey to get there. I hope you’ll join me on the road of discovery. As always…

Peace for the Journey,

 

In my next post, I’ll talk about the unconventional process of writing “Beyond Cancer’s Scars.” It really was a God-thing!

on quitting writing…

I quit writing yesterday. Quit. Put down the pen and said, “No more.”

 

Today, I’ve extended that deadline a bit. Why? Well, partly because of something I read last night and mostly because of something my daddy has told me time and again throughout the course of his preaching life.

 

“Elaine, I want to leave the ministry on Saturday nights before I preach. I re-enter the ministry every Sunday at noon.”

 

I get what my daddy’s saying. I feel the tension in my own life every time I’m asked to speak at an event and even, sometimes, when I’m writing a post. There’s something about the “front side” of creativity that stretches the soul, usually for the good, but sometimes so far stretched to not only “let out” the good, but also to “let in” the bad. The corrosive stuff that says, “Who are you kidding? You’re less than what you think you are. In the midst of the millions of words that will be written today . . . spoken today, yours won’t matter.”

 

That’s the stuff that stretches my soul and that threatens the livelihood of all “creatives” who risk sharing their work with others. Sometimes what we create—the songs we sing, the pictures we take, the words we write, the sermons we preach—is lost on our audiences. They don’t get it, and when they don’t get it (or at least when we think that they don’t get it), we struggle for understanding as well. And sometimes, that struggle is enough to make us want to quit. The anguish of our Saturday evenings (the night before we “launch”) stretches our faith and challenges our fortitude.

 

The front side of creative release is always the hardest side for me—doing the work, grinding it out, being disciplined enough and brave enough to put some words on paper and to do so against the backdrop of my faith. The backside of my creativity? The Sunday at noon? Well, more often than not, that’s the time when I willingly re-enter the ministry—when I draw the pen from my pocket, click it to “go,” and say to myself, “That wasn’t so bad. Let’s do it again. There just might be something to all of this.”

 

I don’t know where you are today. Maybe you’re living in the stress of your Saturday night—a time of preparation and feeling the strain of your creative pulse. You’re ready to launch, but your nerves and fear are getting the best of you.

 

Maybe you’ve arrived at your Sunday noon. You’ve delivered the goods and now you’re breathing in the beauty of the release. What you set your mind and heart to do has been done, and it’s been done well.

 

Maybe . . . you’re somewhere in between, maybe living your Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday—the days when nothing seems to be happening. Your creative life feels dull, desperate, and dead. Saturday and Sunday aren’t even on your radar because you’ve decided that Saturday’s angst and Sunday’s release are no longer worth the effort. All has not gone according to your plans, so why bother making any further ones?

 

I understand. All of it. Every single creative and non-creative day of the week. I’ve lived them all; celebrated most of them, cursed a few of them, and still carry a heavy question in my heart about how I’m going to walk through my remaining ones. I don’t know where my writing will take me in the days ahead. There have been some huge disappointments I’ve experienced along the way. I imagine you could say the same about your creativity. Still and yet, I know this as a certainty:

 

God has planted his creative pulse inside each one of us. You are not the one person who’s been denied this sacred endowment. Your creativity, my creativity, is a gift that should be invested into the soul of humanity—not wasted, not hoarded, not buried. It’s how we help to make this world complete, how we put God’s finishing touches on what he began in Eden. When we pick up the pen, the paintbrush, the guitar, the camera . . . whatever our creative edges . . . when we tend to them and give them room enough to grow and breathe, we grow and breathe as well. We become willing participants in our Mondays thru Saturdays, because we know that Sunday noon is not far in coming.

 

I want my Sunday noon. I want you to have yours as well, for all of us to get to the other side of the birthing process—to labor hard and to willingly carry the burden of our creativity through to the finish—so that we might see and feel the beauty of a new work. A new grace. A new creation to flourish inside an older one. A new day, a “Sunday,” to rest and to believe, again, in the goodness and rightness of such moments.

 

Yes, I quit writing yesterday. Today, I picked up the pen once more, and even though my calendar says “Wednesday,” it feels a whole lot more like Sunday noon to me. As always…

 

Peace for the journey,

Monday – Friday deliberations? Saturday angst? Sunday noon? Where is your creative pulse resting today? How are you feeling about your creativity?

library of faith…

Some days we just need a word from God.

 

Huh? OK, so let me define that a bit. For those of you who don’t speak “Christianese”—a word from God simply means (for me) a heavenly nudge. A heartfelt thought or two from the Father that falls over me like fresh water after I’ve spent a long day in the desert’s heat.

 

Yesterday was one of those days for me. As many of you know, I’ve been diligently working to put the finishing touches on my book, Beyond Cancer’s Scars. One of my goals for the book is that it will serve as a resource for small groups who desire to work through it collectively rather than just individually. Along these lines, I’ve written a facilitator’s guide to accompany the book. There are nine group sessions, and each session has a Scripture focus.

 

Yesterday, I had eight of those Scriptures selected. I needed one more; accordingly I prayed, thought, asked some of you to pray, and then I took a walk. And the deeper I got into it with Jesus, the more permanent his nudge to my spirit.

 

“Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.” –John 21:25

 

There it was … my ninth Scripture focus, a word aptly spoken at just the right time and a good fit for Session Six. I also happen to think it’s a good fit for this session, this day.

 

Jesus did accomplish many things while he was on this earth. Jesus is still accomplishing many things on this earth. He’s doing it through you and me. We are his agents in this temporal arena. We are the “books” being written, the “word” from the Word to the world. We are the chronicles of Christ, the shelved faithfulness of a kingdom that will not end. What’s being written into our stories, even today, is the stuff of eternity. Line by line; page by page; chapter by chapter … without end. Our stories are eternal. They’ll live on long after we’ve been memorialized at the graveside.

 

No, this world may not have room enough to shelve all the many books and miraculous works of grace that Jesus Christ is writing into us and through us, but there is a library in heaven waiting to hold the living witnesses of our faith. Heaven’s library has room for our books. It’s just waiting on a few finishing touches to our stories, a few finishing lines and chapters, penned and punctuated by the Creator of our souls.

 

Even today, you’re in the middle of one of those chapters. I don’t know how it’s reading to you and to those around you. I pray it’s filled with faith, truth, hope, love, and tremendous joy. However, I’ve lived long enough to know that it also might be filled with some suffering, heartache, confusion, and chaos … perhaps one of the worst chapters of your story. Whatever your chapter, whatever lines are being written into it this day, know this:  this is not your last chapter. It’s simply one of them. There are more to come. With Jesus Christ, there is always more to come.

 

Perhaps, then, we can better understand the Apostle John’s witness. There isn’t enough room here to tell God’s story. It’s too big, too grand, too eternal to contain it. We’ll have to wait until heaven to read it all, where days are endless, the lights stay on, and the library never closes.

 

I can’t wait to read your story, friend. Don’t be afraid of these ending chapters. Instead, surrender the pen in faith to the One who is generous with his grace and love. He can be trusted with your finishing touches. As always…

 

Peace for the journey,

If you were to give a title to this current chapter of your story, what would it be?

 

Also, the winner of Michael Hyatt’s book, Platform, (thanks to Amelia for drawing names this time) is Joanne @ The Open Door. I’ll be contacting you for mailing information.

 

on getting noticed in a noisy world {a book review and give-away}…

I’m currently reading Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World by Michael Hyatt. I also follow Michael’s blog. He’s a ball of energy, a no-nonsense, straight-forward, genuine leader. He’s figured out how to make all this work… this blogging, branding, getting noticed in a noisy world thing. And so, I’m reading his book. What he’s doing is working (case in point, I bought the book), which begs the question, is what I’m doing working? Am I getting noticed in a noisy world? Further still, should I even be asking the question?

 

Do you know what I like best about Michael’s book? All the helpful tips for getting noticed.

 

Do you know what makes me the most uncomfortable about Michael’s book? All the helpful tips for getting noticed.

 

I struggle with this… this whole “look at me.” Truly, that’s not the pulse behind Michael’s book. Michael is trying to equip his readers with the necessary tools that better enable them to get their message out. I get it. I’m grateful for it. After all, I believe I have a message—a story of grace and witness to share with others. I believe you have one as well. As Christians, we are charged with the “story.” The Great Commission belongs to believers and is Christ’s benediction to his earthly tenure, his parting words intended for us (see Matthew 28:16-20). Going into all the world (your little corner of the world) and making disciples isn’t an optional requirement of our faith. It’s a necessary component to cultivating our faith.

 

In light of this, Michael’s question becomes a question I’m willing to wrestle with as I seek to put parameters around what I’m doing here at my blogging address, peace for the journey. Am I getting noticed in a noisy world? Is my message getting through? How can I best maximize the witness of my heart so that the hearts of others might be drawn closer to the heart of the Father?

 

It’s a tricky endeavor, merging sacred witness with social media platforms (Michael devotes a lot of chapters to talking about this area, probably because so many of us are focused there). Blogging, facebooking, twittering, pinterest, it’s a lot to take on. And I might get blasted for saying this, but I’ve come to believe that there is always a “me” attached to these forums. Think about it… even if we’re typing out scriptures for one another, we’re still the mouthpiece—the hands and heart behind our tweets. And that’s not always a bad something; most of the time, it’s a really good something, but we can’t deny that there’s not a “me” that comes with each and every one of our posts, our status updates, our tweets, our pins. We’re just a huge part of the process. We want to be heard; accordingly, we speak our minds.

 

And therein lies the rub—our minds. My mind. Oh the places it goes, the explorations it undertakes! My mind is a traveling gypsy. Left unregulated by the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I could easily steer off course and make this place about something else, something other than my journey with Jesus.

 

I guess I just want to do this right. I don’t want to get so tangled up in all the particulars—the strategies, methods, and latest trends—that I lose my focus. I want to keep writing about my journey with Jesus and then let go of the rest. Let what happens happen and let that be enough. But underneath, there’s still this push for more, this pulsing notion that I should be doing more to get my story out there and to keep up with this ever-changing beast named social media. Indeed, a tough wrestling, this idea of platform and my feelings about getting noticed, about getting God noticed.

 

How about you and your platform? Do you ever feel the strain? What stage has God allowed to serve as a venue for your faith’s witness? Are you getting noticed in a noisy world? Is God getting noticed because of you? How has social media shaped the way you share your story? What’s going right with it? What’s going wrong with it? And why has it become so desperately important to most of us?

 

I’m not knocking Michael’s book. I love his book; it’s chock-full of practical advice for anyone with “something to say or sell.” But I just don’t know how to take all of his advice and incorporate it into what I’m trying to do here in my little corner of the blogosphere. It just feels too big and too hard some days. Maybe I’m just too tired.

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on any of the above questions. Obviously, my heart’s working them through, and I’d like nothing better than to work them through with you, faithful readers. Let’s keep the conversation positive, and as an added bonus, I’m giving away a copy of Michael’s book. Just mention your interest in your discussion of these questions. As always…

 

Peace for the journey
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