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March 3, 2016March 3, 2016

One Christian’s Response to Super Tuesday

There’s a chaotic angst broiling in America these days. Facebook and Twitter basically blew up as the results from Super Tuesday became clear and He Who Must Not Be Named was declared the winner in many states, his path to the presidency made straight(er). You can feel the tension gathering tighter, like a spring pulling apart.

This fear shouldn’t surprise us. After all, the world profits on it. Our fear (of being hurt, of not having what our neighbor has, of being left out) makes the economic world go round. You can’t sell something to someone who is content with what they have, so we’re pummeled with the fear of being hungry or not having the best car or not having enough sex with the right kind of people. There’s the fear that refugees will destroy our economy, the fear that ISIS is in our backyard. If we listen to those fear-spewing stations long enough, we start to believe them.

In the mean time, our culture continues to feed us fear and angst and watches the bottom line go up. We devour it 24/7 in the news and on the radio and in our social media feeds, and we are sated, but we can’t stop eating it up.

More and more words.

More and more stuff.

More and more fear.

* * * * *

One of my Lenten practices is reading the book of Luke. I was driving down to see a client who lives in the southern end of Lancaster County, and as I drove those long slivers of road that run along the edges of fields and woods, I listened to chapter 24. It’s the story of the events that come after Jesus’ death.

But really, it’s the story of chaos.

From the other gospels we know that all kinds of chaotic things happened when Jesus died. There was a storm, a splitting curtain, and formerly dead people walking the streets of Jerusalem. There were angels and frightened guards and an empty tomb. There were arguments about what had happened. There was uncertainty and disappointment.

There was a lot of disappointment.

The one person they had hoped would lead them into a new kingdom was dead. Now what?

Then, in the midst of these chaotic days, two travelers walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus, a village seven miles outside the city. A third man joins them, and they tell him the story of all that is happening, all the fear, all the disappointment, all the chaos. This third man, it turns out, was Jesus, resurrected.

What jumped out at me the most about their interaction with Jesus was that he did not use this opportunity to promise them success, or wealth, or even a worldly kind of peace that might have calmed the turmoil in the land around them. He didn’t, in other words, promise them that everything would turn out okay. The pivotal moment of their meeting didn’t involve him rallying them to overthrow Rome or put the Pharisees in their place, once and for all.

No.

The pivotal moment of their meeting came when he sat down with them and picked up the bread. He blessed it, he broke it, and he gave it.

* * * * *

I once heard a sermon by Henri Nouwen in which he talked about how many times Jesus was described as blessing bread, breaking it, and giving it. Nouwen goes on to suggest that this is the life of the true disciple of Christ, that all this handling of bread was actually Jesus foreshadowing what he would do, and what he would ask us to do.

We are blessed.

We are broken.

We are given to others.

* * * * *

These are chaotic times, no doubt. Sometimes I wonder if my generation has ever seen anything quite like it. But it is precisely the unrest and the fear that requires us to rediscover our foundation as sons and daughters of God.

Be blessed.

Be broken.

Be given.

March 1, 2016February 29, 2016

Going Five Months Without Income (and Why Emptiness is a Good Thing)

It is very hard to allow emptiness to exist in our lives. Emptiness requires a willingness not to be in control, a willingness to let something new and unexpected happen. It requires trust, surrender, and openness to guidance. God wants to dwell in our emptiness.”

– Henri Nouwen

Last year I didn’t have any major writing projects from March through July. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to live without money, but it’s a fairly challenging experience. Watching your credit card balance go up month after month is a soul-sucking exercise. Maile got a part-time job at a local market, I worked weekends selling baked goods to try and make a little extra while cobbling together some odds and ends on the writing front.

It was a long five months. It felt like a very empty five months. I wandered around the house, tired, not sure where to sit.

Emptiness is a funny thing, because while it’s basic implication is “lack” (empty stomachs, empty space, empty containers), emptiness also signifies something completely different.

Emptiness means there is room for opportunity.

Emptiness invites us to stop trying to control everything, to sit back and wait patiently for what might happen next to fill the void.

Emptiness creates space for trusting God.

* * * * *

Maile and I were talking about the hope of emptiness yesterday morning as we face our normal uncertainties in life. Being self-employed is a constant exercise in trust. She marched over to the side table in our bedroom and read the following passage from Isaiah 43:

“Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
¹⁹See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.
²⁰The wild animals honor me,
    the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
²¹    the people I formed for myself
    that they may proclaim my praise.

“This isn’t the same old thing,” Maile insisted. “We’re not going around in circles. We’re not destined to live our past over and over again. God is doing a new thing. A new thing!”

The two of us sat there in the morning light, shadows from the sycamore tree outside the window waving on the floor of our room. We sat there, and for a moment we were in awe at the new thing this emptiness might bring.

This emptiness you’re experiencing? This sense that your circling around the same disappointment, the same failure, the same mistakes? It’s not true. There is a new thing in the making. There’s a stream making its way toward you, through the wasteland.

* * * * *

Where are you experiencing emptiness in your life? Would you consider beginning to see that emptiness as a space in which something new can grow?

* * * * *

I’m so excited to be giving away THREE FREE COPIES of a wonderful, beautifully-written book: Christie Purifoy’s Roots and Sky. If you’d like to enter your name for a chance to win one of those copies, leave a comment below. You could always let us know how past emptiness led to something new. Or you could let us know your current emptiness and we could commiserate with you. Or you could simply say, “I’d love a copy of Christie’s book!”

February 29, 2016February 28, 2016

Why I’m Highly Skeptical of Writing Courses (and Why I’m Offering One)

So. This is awkward.

Ask just about any one of my close writer friends how I feel about online writing courses, and most of them will tell you I think online writing courses are rubbish. For the most part. Not all of them, of course: my friend Andi offers great writing courses with a foundation based on community. Ed Cyzewski’s books on writing and faith are on par with the highest quality books out there on the topic. My friend Tsh has offered incredible content, not focused solely on writing but on things that, directly and indirectly, have had an impact on my writing and my life.

There are good courses out there.

Not too long ago, a well-known writer friend of mine asked me, “Why don’t you do a writers’ course? You’ve actually written stuff! That puts you way ahead of most people offering courses.” We had a good laugh about it, but I filed his suggestion away in my brain.

Then, a few weeks ago, Bryan Allain asked me if I’d consider putting together a writers’ course with him. The video below explains our thought process as well as my answer.

So yeah, if you think Bryan is right and want to let him know that we should offer a course, do that here.

Or if you think he’s not right, or you think I’m handsome, or you just feel bad for me, click here.

Or if you just want to stay in the loop and be first to know when we announce the project, let us know where to send those updates by filling in the short form below:

February 26, 2016February 25, 2016

You Should See This

Here are some of the best things I’ve seen on the Internet recently. Click on the highlighted words at the end of each excerpt to read the post in full.

Also, Bryan Allain and I are launching an affordable writers’ course in the next few months. If you think you might be interested, message me with your email address (using the Contact button at the top right of the page) and I’ll keep you in the loop.

Inside the store, at the counter we inquire about this lost toy. I’m anxious now. Afraid honestly, of what my girl’s response will be when the lady returns empty handed. I’m worried that her budding faith could be crushed by God’s “no” to her prayer. I am not hopeful. I am only afraid and riddled with doubt.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, many writers today are stuck in a kind of limbo between a perception that writing for a sustainable income means writing in order to get famous. This perception is grounded in an unnecessary reality that has unfortunately become all too normal.

* * * * *

We sit in a large circle, inmates and a sparse number of volunteers. Black, white, advantaged, disadvantaged, petty thieves, dope-slingers, repentant, unrepentant, guilty, not-guilty–all of us sitting in the round, no positions of prominence. No head of the table. No foot, either.

These are the men of the Elkhart County Jail book club, men who’ve been reading and discussing Coming Clean.

* * * * *

February 24, 2016February 23, 2016

When the World Goes On, Despite Certain Presidential Nominees

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wonder what has happened to the world. This is more likely to happen on gray days, when a mist meanders down James Street and there are fewer people walking the sidewalks. Those who do make the dreary walk have their heads down, their shoulders up, keeping out the world.

I stare out the window and I wonder. What kind of a world is it when a leading presidential nominee more closely resembles an elementary school bully than someone with great character about to take the reigns of a nation? What kind of world is it when people sell helpless people to other people? What kind of a world is it?

Fear hides around every corner, these days. Fear pulls on us, nags at us, reminds us of how much we have to lose. Fear shows us empty hands and tells us they will be ours. That could be our lack.

* * * * *

I walk to the corner store again and talk to Jose, the nephew of the owner. He’s in his forties. He tries to sell me a sandwich or some of the Mexican food they made on the grill in the back. When I try to pay for my gallon of milk and box of cereal with a debit card, he looks miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “the machine still isn’t working.”

But I’m welcome to use the debit machine in the store, the one that will end up costing me $4 to take out $20. I do it, though, because it’s the corner store. It’s where I meet my neighbors. It’s the tangible intersection between my privilege, my relative wealth, and the people around me.

We laugh about all the snow. A man in the aisle suggests that if I want to make really good Rice Krispies treats, I need to add lost of butter. Jose tries once more to sell me some Mexican food. I laugh and tell him I’m good for now. I tell him I’ll see him soon.

* * * * *

There are big things afoot in this world. There are tremendous tragedies unfolding before our very eyes, and there are poignant sparks of beauty, of new life.

But we cannot let these momentous things distract us from the everyday. The soft-spoken hello to the neighbor I pass. The quick wave and how are you to Eric across the street. The ATM fee, eaten in order to keep the peace. A kind, enthusiastic man trying to make a living by selling Mexican food in his uncle’s store.

The world goes on in spite of the larger-than-life bullies. The question at hand, the question I must focus on, is not how they will affect the world, but how will I?

February 18, 2016February 18, 2016

The Two Things You Have to Stop Worrying About

“You must once and for all give up being worried about success and failures. Don’t let that concern you. It’s your duty to go on working steadily day by day, quite quietly, to be prepared for mistakes, which are inevitable, and for failures.” Anton Chekov

My friend Ed posted that quote on his Instagram account a few days ago, and I think it applies to any discipline, any practice, from writing to business to taking care of your children. Of course, it’s rather simple to give up worrying about success and failure momentarily, but to give it up once and for all? That, I suppose, is the real feat.

Why, though? Why must we give up worrying about success or failure? Failure’s always right there around the corner – shouldn’t we be on the watch for it? And success…that sounds like so much fun! So much better than living a life of anonymity.

Here’s why I think we need to give up worrying about those two things. It seems to me that the things we have been created to do are the things placed squarely in front of us. Sometimes these things seem rather far off, rather unattainable, but there they are. Straight ahead. When we worry about success or failure, I think it draws our vision to the right or the left, so that we’re no longer focused on what we should be focused on.

Straight ahead now, my friend, not glancing to the right or the left. The mountain of success rises like a cliff on the left. The canyon of failure drops off to the right. There is nothing but the thin thread of doing, and it’s one step after the other. It’s a dirt path, nothing more than that. But it’s worth following, all the way tot he end.

The next step. That’s all you have to take.

* * * * *

I sent out my twice-monthly newsletter last week (you can sign up for it HERE), and I asked people what they were hoping for. I read every response to those emails and try to reply to everyone. This idea of hope, wow! I got some moving replies (a few of which I’ll be sharing in the coming weeks).

Here is one that jumped out at me:

“This post resonated with me this morning. I hope and hope for writing success, but then I don’t even know what success means and if it’s even worth the struggle.”

How often do we feel that way? We want to be successful, but why? For the money? The fame? The appreciation? I actually think it’s something a little deeper, something we can’t quite put our finger on. And I don’t think what we truly want actually has anything to do with success. This is how I replied:

“Your kind words mean a lot to me. Success isn’t worth the struggle, but the writing itself is.”

I believe that. Success, the hope for success, the promise of success – I don’t think it’s worth all this effort. I don’t think it’s worth the 500,000 words I’ve blogged in the last six years. I don’t think the chance of success is worth the 15 books I’ve written for other people. I don’t think the chance of success is ever worth it. It’s just not.

But the writing is worth it. And if you’re doing what you love, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re growing a business or starting a church or taking care of your family or taking a risk, it’s worth doing, not because of the promise of some future day, but because today, it’s enough. Simply doing it is more than enough.

Is your target success? Are your eyes on failure, doing everything you can to avoid it? Tread carefully, my friend. The path of doing is a narrow one.

What are you hoping for?

Twice a month I send out bonus blog posts and updates on the books I’m writing. If you’d like to receive those emails, you can sign up HERE. Your information will never be given to anyone else. You can also sign up in the right hand column if you’d prefer to have every blog post emailed straight to your inbox as they’re posted. How’s that for convenience?