book blast challenge

Get 5 FREE eBooks - 2 Days Only

10/17/13 and 10/18/13

PLUS enter to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card!
 

Why 21 Days? 

It’s a commonly known fact that it takes 21 days to form a new habit. You may spend 21 days trying to form a good exercise routine or kick a bad habit, but what about taking 21 days to form a new spiritual habit? .
That’s the reason for the 21 days series - to provide you with 21 days worth of biblical devotions to help you form new habits that draw you closer to Christ. And for two days only (October 17th-18th, 2013) we're giving all 5 books away for free. After that, they will be available for only 99 cents each.

So what do you say? Will you join us in strengthening your walk with God? If so, download one or all of the books below at no cost to you during our free promotion - and scroll down to enter to win a $50 Amazon gift card as our gift to you!

 

Be Inspired...Join the 21 Day Challenge!

Download 5 Free eBooks for 2 Days Only 
 

Book #1:
21 Days of Generosity


Living a Life of Generosity: 21 Days of Generosity Challenge

Do you want to live a life of generosity?
Do you want your life to be a blessing to others?
Do you want to have a giving spirit that overflows from a heart that is fully trusting in God as provider?

If so, consider embarking on this 21 Days of Generosity through this short but powerful eBook.

Download on Kindle Here
 

Book #2:
21 Days of Faith



Living a Life of Faith: 21 Days of Faith Challenge

Do you want to live a life of faith?
Do you want your faith to be more than simply saying "I believe in God"?
Do you want to have a genuine faith that overflows from a heart that is fully trusting in God in every area of your life?


If so, consider embarking on this 21 Days of Faith Challenge through this short but powerful eBook.

Download on Kindle Here
 

Book #3:
21 Days of Gratitude


During a season of transition in my life, I found myself overwhelmed with negative emotions like self-pity and a complaining spirit. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over me. I prayed and asked God for wisdom on how to overcome these negative emotions. And I sensed Him leading me to do this 21 days of gratitude challenge.


Over the course of the 21 days, God began to change me as I spent intentional time being grateful for all I have been given. I did this through writing in my journal each day and also sending a hand-written thank you note to someone different each day.

And now I want to share what I learned with you in the short, but powerful book.

Download on Kindle Here
 

Book #4:
21 Teen Devotionals... for Girls!



Our lives are ruled by habits. We are defined by them. How our days play out, how we act and react, and even how we eat, sleep and talk are all affected by our habits - for better or for worse.  It's said that it takes 21 days to form a new habit or break an old one, so why not spend the next 21 days forming a habit of spending time with God? If you've got 21 days, we've got 21 devotions specifically written for today's teen girls.
Are you up for forming a habit of spending time with your Creator?  If so, download this book and get started on these devotionals!

Download on Kindle Here
 

Book #5:
21 Teen Devotionals... for Guys!


Teen Devotionals… for Guys!, brought to you by FindYourTrueStrength.com, are written for teen guys who want to find their true strength in Christ, these devotions designed to be read, pondered on and applied to daily life.

We want you to know that the Bible isn't just a book that’s over 2000 years old. It’s completely applicable to our lives today – even as teenagers. We know that girls and guys don't face the same issues in high school – not even close. So these devotions were written with today's teen guys in mind.

Go ahead. Dig in. Find your true strength in Christ.

Download on Kindle Here
 

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This book blast is hosted by Crossreads.

We would like to send out a special THANK YOU to all of the CrossReads book blast bloggers!

 

Old, Alone, Done For

Title Peter Pan reference anyone? Yes, it is. Just clearing up that it does not refer to me. Or anyone I know.

Trying to type a blog this morning is hampered by one thing. I can't pick up my computer. OK, two things. There is a cat on my lap, causing me to type crooked and crane my already-sore neck. But this is normal. Unfortunately, the elbow pain that causes my current inability to left an object of more than two ounces is becoming normal. And I do not like this.

I hurt my elbow picking up a griddle to wash it last night. True story. I could not make that up. And now pain shoots up my arm if I even contemplate squeezing the toothpaste, let alone anything more strenuous.

Between the anti-rejection drugs that keep me alive but prefer to treat my body like an amusement park fun house; some thirty-five extra pounds sitting on my knees, hips, and ankles; and my, ahem, maturity level, there is a big lack of cooperation between my brain and my muscles. My brain says I can hike volcanoes and clamber down rock slides and garden for hours. My body says, "Um, no, I think we'll just sit in a hammock and drink iced tea, except if you even try to get in or out of one of those things I will hurt you. Honestly."

My body says I can't even pick up a stinking frying pan. Pathetic.

No, this is not a sob story in which you are to now feel so sorry for me that you send well wishes and gift cards and money. Although, that would be OK if you felt so led. Amazon or Target, if you're asking.

This is a story of legitimate fear. I have some things that I love in life. Traveling. Gardening. Rock climbing and hiking. I do fear a body that one day will not allow me to do all the things I still dream of doing. Some of it is in my control. Some, like the effect of medication causing way-too-easy injury, is not. I am honestly terrified of the day I look out at this beautiful creation in which I want to run, jump, and play in every corner and realize, I can't.

Then I remember that part that is in my control. And I remember I should be incredibly grateful that any of it is in my control. For many, it is not. And I renew my commitment to do whatever it takes to ensure that I can run and jump and play.

More than that, I renew my commitment to be active in God's world, carrying out his plan, for as long as I am able. Far worse than not being able to live my dream of cruising the Galapagos Islands or hiking the Coastal Trail of Wales would be to have to say to God, "I can't do what you ask. I can't finish your dreams for my life. I didn't control what I could to be physically able to do that." That would be the worst kind of horrible.

Our lead pastor has been talking about this subject the last few weeks, and the reflection on strength got me off my butt, literally. I'd been thinking for a while I needed to find some basic strengthening exercises to do what I could to keep injury at bay. I know meds make me prone to it. That doesn't mean I have to go down without a fight. So I did, finally. I looked them up. I now have a roster of things to do to make those muscles holding together my aching knees, shoulders, and ankles stronger. And I'm doing them. Not perfectly. Not every day. But I am doing what I can to control what I can. So I can hold off that day when I say "I can't" for as long as possible.

If you would like to see the exercises, try here. http://www.pinterest.com/jimari/in-my-dreams/

If you want to listen to the awesome message on strengthening our bodies for God's use, go here. https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/lets-get-physical-what-physical/id568584787?i=169131857&mt=2 (Our pastor is pretty great.You will like it. Trust me.)

If you just want an iced tea and a hammock, don't say I didn't warn you. Those things are killers.

Treasures of Darkness--A Prison Journey

This Tuesday, I'm hosting an Aussie author! Can I come visit? Please? Just not in the setting where this book takes place . . . Meet Trish Jenkins.

FAITH TO OVERCOME

Living with murderers, drug dealers, frauds, and broken humanity, her prayers for deliverance were not answered the way she expected. Instead the Lord delivered her "through the fire..." Prison was not part of Trish Jenkins’ ministry plans, but it happened. Conned by a fraud and a breach of the Corporations Act meant losing her multi-million dollar portfolio, including her family home. It also meant this Australian mother served 8 months in prison, isolated from her husband and 3 little girls.

TREASURE IS FOUND IN DARK PLACES

Instead of succumbing to despair and self-pity, Trish chose to believe the Word of God and in doing so, she introduced many other prisoners to Christ. In the darkness, Trish found keys to freedom and courage and a deeper walk with the Holy Spirit.

Trish felt compelled to record everything she experienced. She wrote letters to her family and friends by writing letters to her husband, who then copied the letter to an email that went out to a list that grew rapidly. Those emails went viral, and Trish’s readers shared her journey with her. What she couldn’t put in letters due to their sensitive nature, she wrote in a private journal.

From stories of winning over bullies to the despair of persecution for her faith, Trish shares her journey with warmth and candour.

Today Trish shares her hard-won “Treasures” as an entertaining, insightful speaker and author, inspiring audiences to be courageous in all circumstances. Ministering effectively to both Christian and secular audiences, she is warm, compassionate and funny! Today, as a well-respected international speaker and author, Trish’s heart-felt and inspirational story filled with practical advice is re-igniting fire and faith in the hearts of her audiences.

Trish and her family were reunited and today are all active members of Citipointe Church, Australia.

If you would like to read an excerpt from her journey, Treasures of Darkness, read on.

www.trishjenkinsfaith.co

www.youtube.com/trishjenkinsfaith

ww.facebook.com/trishjenkinsauthor

www.twitter.com/Trishjenkins

Humiliation to Humor

From journal entry dated 30^th January, 2009.

Medication is delivered to the unit three times a day. I require a tablet just once a day. When we are given medication we are to line up with our plastic glasses half filled with water. We must show our fingers putting our medication into our mouths, swallow the water, then open our mouths wide, and lift our tongues for an officer to inspect.

It reminds me of the movie, “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Some of the women take medicine to help with their drug withdrawals and may transfer the pill or liquid into someone else’s mouth as a payment for something.

Such oral practices are not permitted in here.

As per the movie, we seem to have our very own Nurse Ratchet. This woman is a really grumpy, plump, middle-aged "sourpuss." Her mouth seems permanently held in the position that most resembles the rear of a cat. I’m always as polite as I can be, but one day, she was so rude to me that an officer actually told me not to worry about her.

My humiliations were not quite complete...

I picked up a persistent, barking cough from the watch-house conditions. To add to my indignities, my pelvic floors were not coping as well as they would normally, and I needed something to suppress the coughing. I was too embarrassed to go to the male officer in the fishbowl and explain why I needed to access my cell.

“Don’t you do your pelvic floor exercises?” Nurse “Ratchet” demanded in a loud, accusing voice.

“Well yes, but I did give birth to twins and this cough isn’t helping…”

She spoke to me as if I were an idiot and as if my answer was "back-chatting." I did get a bit testy as I hate poor customer service. I didn’t appreciate my personal matters being ridiculed in front of everyone either. But in here I am not a customer. I am not an equal. I must be subservient, and accept disrespect from staff if I am to survive. It’s hard for a self-respecting person to tolerate such treatment.

I speak to the staff the same way I would if I were dealing with people from another business. We are incarcerated; however, in theory, we are still supposed to be treated with manners. Some officers do, and the women usually respond in kind. However, many do not; yet it is not our place to point out when a staff member is falling short. We have the right to complain, but few do unless the matter is really serious.

"I expected the women to be mean; but a nurse is simply doing a job, why would she bother being snide?" I complained to the Lord.

Hmmm. Time for an "Attitude" test.

I began praying for this horrible woman. I am sure she is lovely to those who matter to her. She is probably a sweet grandmother. Perhaps she just hates her job. So I prayed for God’s blessing on every area of her life. Then the Lord showed me a scripture.

“That which you do to the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you do to me.” See Matthew 25:31-46 for the full context. It also warns, “That which you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for Me.”

I felt the Lord ask me, “Who are the ‘least’ in society?”

“I think it’s us, Lord," I answered. "People feel sorry for abused children, the handicapped, the sick, and the mentally ill; but we are despised.”

“That’s right, and yet she serves you.” The irony was not lost on me.

What was funnier was when I shared my revelation with the nurse the next day! There is a part of me that is a little cheeky about the things of God, and I wanted to see her response. How could I not? As she served me, I thanked her politely and said, “You know the Bible says when you are serving us, you are serving Jesus.”

She looked stunned, “Well, I don’t believe that!”

I smiled at her and replied, “It doesn’t matter if you believe it. We are the very least in society. What anyone does to us, they do to Christ. Thank you.”

“Move along, Jenkins!” I’m sure the supervising officer was hiding a smile. Perhaps the Lord will touch her, and perhaps not. It’s not my call.

Sentient--your word for the day. You're welcome.

Every morning, this scene plays out in my bathroom. (No, not that scene. I am not about to depict something you will need ten years and therapy to unsee. Trust me.)

The scene is our smallest cat, who follows me in lest she miss any possible action in the house. I close the door. She spies the full-length mirror on the back of the door. And she jumps at it. For five minutes, that cat bats, swipes, jumps, paws, and sniffs at the mirror and at that strange black and gold tiny cat inside it.

Which I found odd, considering she does it every day. I mean, you'd think that, after a while, the cat would catch on. Dude, that other cat? It's you. She's always there. Always. It's not a totally weird coincidence. You will never get to play with the cat in the mirror.

Until I looked at it from the cat's perspective. To a cat, a mirror means nothing. Cats are not, as discussed at the dinner table the other night, sentient beings. (Really. We do discuss these things. I am raising productive citizens who know more words than LOL and BTW.) The cat has no self-consciousness, therefore no concept of a “me” as opposed to the rest of the living world. When she looks at a mirror, she doesn't see a “me.” She can't. So, to her, it's another cat. In her space. A friend who won't come out to play.

Which made me think . . . (what? You don't do deep thinking in the bathroom?)

What if we could live like that? What if we had no concept of a mirror as the end-all depiction of “me”? What if we got another perspective?

“Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” (1 Corinthians 13.12)

What if we remember that we really do have no concept of what we look like? We think we do. We judge ourselves by it. Constantly. But what if—what if we remembered that a being waaay higher than ourselves has the real deal on what we look like and who we are?

The cat has no idea what she truly looks like. Neither do we. When we look in a mirror, do we see this?

“And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3.18)

I, too, bat at the mirror in displeasure. Maybe it's because I see only dimly what I want to see—what I will be. Here and now, it's frustrating. But perspective—perspective tells me I'm being gloriously transformed. Daily. We dare not miss it in our furious batting away at something that isn't real. 

delete. edit. undo.

To be, or not to be?

Decisions, decisions. That's what we've been talking about for the past five weeks. Decision making. Fear of making a decision. Fear of not making a decision. Here, its more like, “To do, or not to do?” (“To be, or not to be” is a big decision. BIG. A bit too big to cover here in the blog of an English major not-exactly-professional-counselor.)

To the five questions already covered, I would add this one: 

Is this decision irreversible? 

If I decide to do (or not do) this thing today, does that mean I've committed myself to it forever and ever amen? No chance of reprieve or plea of insanity?

Often, we convince ourselves it is when in fact, it's not. We get ourselves all worked up and terrified to try going in one direction because we're sure we can never change course. We'll be stuck. It's like we don't remember there's an “off” button on the blender as well as an “on.” Once we start the whole dang thing going, we'll get sucked into that mix forever and never be able to extricate ourselves.

OK, if we're continuing with the blender analogy, that may be true—it's tough to put a strawberry in and retrieve it before it's strawberry banana surprise puree. But an analogy only goes so far. Work with me.

In fact, some things in life are irreversible. If you decide to get pregnant and succeed, you're kinda going to have to go through with it. To my knowledge, “control-alt-delete” has no effect there. Likewise, once you decide to say “I do,” you did. If you decide to jump off a cliff into the ocean and partway down think better of it, you'd definitely better still know how to swim.

But those things are big, rare, life-altering things that, by their nature, happen infrequently. (Like, I will never, ever jump off a cliff. It's that infrequent.) Most things can start out one way and then bend down the road a bit when the need arises. Why do we tend to forget that we have control over changing our mind?

Case in point—our trip to Europe. We had planned a detailed itinerary (and by we I mean I, seeing as I am the only one who plans vacations and the other four usually follow like lemmings to their doom). But because of transportation strikes, unavailable trains, and the French being, well, French, things didn't always go as planned. We detoured. We traveled in unexpected manners. We changed course as needed, still focused on the final destination, but the journey took lovely twists and turns we would not have found had we believed our original itinerary decisions to be unchangeable.

Why go to college? I'm just going to change my mind on what I want to do.

Why start writing a book? I may find out I was all wrong half way through.

Why volunteer for this organization? I may not have the time or passion for it later.

Yes, you may. But does that totally negate the part of the journey you already took? Does the fact that we never got to Geneva toss out all that we experienced in Paris and Barcelona?

We refuse to make a decision because we're afraid it may not be the perfect solution forever. Nothing ever is. Everything adapts. But if we fear starting because we may not end where we thought, we'll never get to Paris at all. And what we learn in Paris may have been the whole point. That, and what we'll learn in the detour.

Is this decision irreversible? Probably not. Does that help you to make it? I hope so. Have you had experience in detours? Anything you're facing that you can change? Tell me what you've learned in the way.

Do you have five years?

This is week five, the final, the ultimate, the World Series last game (Oh, they have seven don't they? Which sport has five? Whatever.) week of talking about Gretchen Rubin's questions to ask when you have a difficult decision staring you in the face.

Fateful Question #5 (This is it, folks):

If I were looking back at this decision, five years from now, 

what will I wish I'd done?

I actually do use this one a lot. I use it in parenting. If I say yes or no here, what will it matter in five years?

I use it in ministry. If I choose to go in this direction, what might the cost or gain be in five years?

I'm thinking maybe I need to use it in my eating habits, because imagining my weight gain in five years just might get me to reconsider that brownie making its way into my mouth completely on its own power.

But since I'm a strategist by nature, I use this question to help clarify--what really matters in this decision?

Case in point—Child #2 asked my advice in college choosing. Go to the school seven hours away from home or the one fifteen minutes from home? Mother's from-the-gut answer: Um, there's a choice there? Go to the hinterlands of Minnesota or stay here with your loving loopy family where you can do laundry for free and pilfer pantry items at will? Really? Im not seeing the conflict here.

I desperately wanted to give her the answer—Stay. Here. With. Me. Because I did not want to lose my baby.

But I didn't. Because if I asked, “Five years from now, what will I wish I'd done?” the answer would be, “I'd wish I had let her make her own decision and go where God was leading her to go.” I knew that five years from then, she would be gone anyway, and she had to be going in the right direction for her. So my decision was to keep my mouth shut.

Taking your hands off the wheel is a scary decision. Asking yourself, “Five years from now, what will I wish I'd done?” helps lessen the scary factor, because it forces you to examine the long-term outcome and gain some perspective on the decision.

Perspective. Such a key word. Paralyzing decisions become less so when we stop focusing on the wall in front of us and look farther out, envisioning where we want to be if we decide to scale it. Or where we could still be if we don't. That's the alternative. Sometimes you may envision the future of a choice and realize, “You know, I think I don't really want to go there.” Or, “Hey, I'm pretty sure I don't want to still be here.” Good or bad, you've gained perspective.

Finally, five questions to ask yourself when faced with a risky or uncomfortable decision:

What am I waiting for?

What would I do if I wasn't scared?

What steps would make things easier?

What would I do if I had all the time and money in the world?

If I were looking back at this decision, five years from now, what will I wish I'd done?

I think I may have one more of my own to add. Next week. Sorry—that's a teaser designed to get you to come back. That's how this whole gig works, dontcha know. (Why yes, I do have Wisconsin roots, why do you ask?)

Whatever you're feeling fearful or paralyzed about right now, I help they help you figure out whether it's a yes or a no on that decision. Either way, make the decision. What are you waiting for?

all the money in the world

See, I knew that title would get you to read.

This is week four of talking about Gretchen Rubin's questions to ask when you have a decision to make that look a little . . . iffy. Scary. Risky. Un-com-fort-a-ble.

Fateful Question #4:

photo by Jef Poskanzer on Flickr, Creative Commons

What would I do if I had all the time and money in the world?

Well, at least this one is fun to ask. It reminds me of the game I used to play with the kids when I wanted them to stop whining while helping me with chores. “If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?” The top vote getters at the time were: “Feed all the hungry people in the world” and “buy a giraffe.” We had diverse interests.

So, what does asking this question do for your decision-making capability? It tells you where you would put all your effort if you could do anything.

If I had all the time and money in the world, would I still write? Yes, I would, and I would fund a giant marketing campaign to get my work actually seen by the Amazon-buying public. That and travel the world, which I could do as a writer since all I need is a laptop, an internet source, and a chai latte.

This tells me I would put all my heart and soul into writing even if it wasn't a job. I would take the risks of rejection and bad reviews because I wanted to. That's a powerful statement about what you truly want out of life and are willing to risk for.

How does it help you make a decision? If I know what I really want to do, I am freed to start making plans to find a way to do it. If I ask myself, “Would I still want this if I had all the money and time in the world?” and the answer is, “No, I would fly to Fiji and drink coconut milk and marry a tattoo artist,” perhaps the decision you're looking at is something you aren't that attached to. Or you have really unrealistic life goals.

Sometimes, we decide to do what we don't really want to do short term--so that we do get a longer term goal. Or, we do it to help someone who needs it because that's what decent people do, even if they don't want to. Sometimes, the instant payoff sucks, like getting up with the baby three times during the night and being projectile vomited upon every time, but the long-term is well worth it. (Having said baby become a best friend and the joy of your life. Plus help with the cooking.)

But long-term, if you could do it, no obstacles, would you? That gives you something to focus on while making a decision. Then back to Question #1—What are you waiting for?

one small step for you-kind

Fateful Question #3.

“When I'm reluctant to take a risk or face something uncomfortable”--the next important question to ask is:

What steps would make things easier?

Oh, this one is so important. So often, we don't tackle a decision because it's completely overwhelming. Our family has this issue—big time. We have trouble with big, looming “things that must be done” because we know they are enormous, and we don't know where to start. So that makes them scary.

If you're like us, you know what happens. Nothing. Nada. Zip. We look at that big scary hairy thing and think, “Yeah, maybe I'll stalk my friend's new boyfriend on Facebook for a while and get back to this one.” Except we never do.

Enter question #3--What steps would make things easier?

Ah, manageable, small, steps. I can do that, right? This works in big and small ways.

For instance, you know what happens when you tell your kid, “Clean your room!” He goes to his room, moves two things from the floor to the top of the dresser, then flops down on the bed and plays Xbox. Not because he wants to disobey you (although that may be in the mix, too), but because he has no idea how to approach something as humungous as, “Clean your room.” Small, manageable tasks. Pick up your books. Make your bed. Clean the fish tank. See if the fish is still alive. Bring the dishes to the kitchen. Flush the fish.

Say I am staring at a blank page for a proposal I know is due, and it may just be the best-selling NYT-list book that gets me that trip to New Zealand, but I can't think of anything better than “Publish my book because it's amazing and squirrel, tree, monkeys in trees playing with squirrels, banana!” Am I going to give the whole thing up and go drown my sorrows at Starbucks?

No. Well, maybe. At least that last part. But I won't give up. I'll break it down into steps. Research topic. Look for competing books. Brainstorm chapter outline. Go get Starbucks. Make raspberry truffle brownies. Surf Pinterest for a better brownie receipe. Off. Track. 

What steps would make things easier? For you? Today? To do that big thing that scares you?

Make a list.

Put it in order.

Plan when and how each step will get done.

Get what you need to do it.

Do it.

Celebrate at Starbucks.

Back to Question #1—What are you waiting for?

the Amalfi Coast and Swiss bank accounts

As promised last week, this week we are asking Fateful Question #2.

What do you mean you didn't read last week? What's with that? Get thee henceforth to the archives and read it. Or you just won't understand.

In Happier at Home, Gretchen Rubin writes about the five questions she asks herself “when I'm reluctant to take a risk or face something uncomfortable.” Fateful Question #2 is:

What would I do if I wasn't scared?

Of what? If I wasn't scared of cliffs, I'd drive the Amalfi Coast. (Oh, and if I had a Swiss bank account. But no matter; we're dreaming, right?)

If I wasn't scared of spiders I'd buy a tarantula and call it Fluffy and feed it and read it bedtime stories. OK, probably not, because scared or not, I still prefer pets that sit on my lap and cuddle and purr rather than stare at me with six billion eyes (give or take).

If I wasn't scared of extreme political wackos I would . . . wait. That is a perfectly justifiable fear. Never mind. Step away from those people . . . slowly.

But the question matters. What would I do if I wasn't scared? It matters because if we can pinpoint what scares us about a decision and what we would do if that fear were out of the picture, we could see clearly what we really want to do. If, barring fear of cliffs, I would drive the Amalfi Coast, then I know I really want to find a way to make that happen. I definitely would (assuming that sugar daddy bank account).

If I thought spiders were simply misunderstood cute little things with too many legs, would I feel the burning need to buy a tarantula? Only if I needed to feed a Komodo Dragon. (I have no idea if they eat tarantulas. Please do not correct me in the comments. We are being theoretical here.) So, taking fear out of the equation, I know I still do not ever want a tarantula. Ever.

These, obviously, are not big decisions. The big ones matter much more. Should I change jobs? Should I volunteer overseas? Should I write a book? What should I major in? Ask yourself—what would I do if I took fear out of the picture? Major in something I love? Get my passport? Change careers? Commit my heart and my time to a person or a cause?

Answering 'yes' doesn't mean you need to do it. This is only one of the Fateful Questions. But what it will do is help you see what you really, really want. Do you really want to go overseas? Maybe this position still isn't the answer, but at least you know the direction you'll probably turn, because you've clarified what you love.

What would I do if I wasn't scared?

I know for me, right now, the answer is write those books and articles and put them out there because, even though I'm deeply afraid of letting people see my work and my “real me,” it's what I'm called to do. Even though the thought of being “just mediocre” terrifies me, I'll press on and become the best I can. And someone, somewhere, will still think I'm just mediocre. And I've got to live with that, because I have to choose risk when it matters.

What would you do if you weren't scared?

Next week—Fateful Question #3.

finding legos on the floor

“When I'm reluctant to take a risk or face something uncomfortable, I ask myself the Five Fateful Questions that I've pulled together over the years to help make difficult choices.” Gretchen Rubin, Happier at Home

Do you, like Ms. Rubin, have difficulty making choices? Me, too.

Having now read both of Gretchen Rubin's Happiness books, I can verify that she is probably often reluctant to take a risk or face something uncomfortable, so I feel not only rather a kindred spirit with her but also trusting that if her questions work for her, they will work for other people.

If you've read any of her books, you know that she diligently researches her topics. Trust me, a lot of digging and delving into history, sociology, psychology, and literature went into her work and thus, her five questions. So I thought, why not talk about them while we talk about fearing risk or discomfort? I'm up for learning from someone else's hard work. I used to think I had to do all the work myself and make sure it was right but now, hey, that's what Google is for. And other authors whose thoughts I can steal borrow with due credit. (http://www.happiness-project.com)

Her first question when facing reluctance?

What am I waiting for?

What is keeping you back? Name the thing. It may be a legitimate need, like downpayment money, or finishing a college degree, or an OK from your parole officer to leave the country.

But what if the thing you name isn't a true obstacle? What if it is blocking your way more through imagination and worry than reality? What if it's just plain old fearful procrastination disguised as . . . waiting? Sometimes, for us pious types, it's "waiting on the Lord." Except . . . it's not. It's holy putting-off-a-decision-I-don't-want-to-make. 

I'm waiting for the kids the be older.

The bank account to grow larger.

The person I'm going to marry.

The person I've been dating for eight years finally to decide we'll get married.

A house of my own.

Sigh. I have to tell you something. If you're waiting for those things to happen before you tackle whatever risk is before you, other roadblocks will pop up. Yep, as liberally as dandelions in my rose garden.

Well now that the kids are older, they're so busy . . .

Now that I have more money, I have more bills . . .

Now that I'm married, I have to live where his job is . . .

Now that that deadbeat guy is out of my life because eight years is quite enough time to sit around waiting for something about as likely as a rain forest in the Sahara . . . OK, if that's you, you can take a pass on this one. You've been through enough for now.

You get the idea. Waiting for circumstances to change before you get started on something usually means new circumstances, new challenges, old procrastination. Because the problem is, that obstacle wasn't really stopping you. Your own desire to avoid the risk did that. After that, finding reasons not to do something becomes as easy as finding Legos on the floor with your bare feet.

What am I waiting for?

What is it? Is it real? Is it your imagination? Your fear? Your intimidation? Name it. Know it. Maybe you have good reason to avoid something—then these questions are made to help determine that. But maybe not.

Next week—Fateful Question #2.

mere mortal. hand grenades, and decisions I don't like

This is a rerun, with some editing, of a blog I ran a while back. In a week filled with controversies over Hobby Lobby and World Vision, and the imminent end of the world because of them, I felt it good to revisit. I hope you agree.

“Human beings look separate because you see them walking about separately. But then we are so made that we can see only the present moment. If we could see the past, then of course it would look different. For there was a time when every man was part of his mother, and (earlier still) part of his father as well, and when they were part of his grandparents. If you could see humanity spread out in time, as God sees it, it would look like one single growing thing--rather like a very complicated tree. Every individual would appear connected with every other.” C.S. Lewis

"I am not in a culture war. I am in love with people within a culture. We fear the loss of what we know. So we react in anger. This is not a healthy way to live or change anything."

I wrote those lines above a few months ago in my “random blog ideas” file. As you might guess, I have several random ideas. Per minute. When I go back to that file, I have one of three reactions:

1) Wow! What an amazing idea! That is perhaps the most genius idea ever conceived by woman!

2) Wow! That is perhaps the stupidest idea ever conceived by woman.

3)I have no idea what that means. A blind orangutan on meth could have made more sense.

It seems the “culture wars” concept is appropriate to discuss this week. Again. And I am so done with that phrase.

I used to be comfortable with the culture war concept. I'd generally call myself a conservative Christian, though some of my views definitely don't fall traditionally or neatly within that arena. Under that label, caring about right and wrong, and the general drift of American culture far from values of any sort, comes naturally. I care. I thought, years ago, that meant taking up arms and joining the “war.” But I don't think that anymore.

It's that word “war.” See, by nature, in war, you have an enemy. You don't like him. You want to hurt him. You fear, reasonably, that he wants to do the same to you. You want him to lose. If that isn't your aim in a war, you should be playing intramural shuffleboard instead. War is violent.

That concept, when applied to someone standing on the street next to me or an acquaintance on Facebook, isn't one I can sleep well at night with. Because culture is people. And people are God's image. And people are . . . me.

Why would I ever want to start lobbing grenades at myself? That's just . . . not normal.

I can't draw lines anymore. I can't, as Lewis explains above, separate myself from that "other" with whom I may not agree. We are part of the same creation, beautifully made and dangerously flawed. Both of us.

I can't look at another person and say, “I wish you'd lose your hopes and dreams and deepest desires, because they're different than mine." I can't treat another person as an enemy. I find it paranoid to assume a person who doesn't agree with me wants to do me harm, although I'm not naïve enough to believe this is never the case. 

I can't have to win. Coming from a former championship debater, this is a huge concession. And here's an even bigger one--Rarely can I even declare with certainty that I'm absolutely right. Not anymore. At least, I can't do that and think God smiles on it and is going to give me a purple heart or something. 

God never smiles on us when we toss grenades at other people he created. 

Of this, I am certain I'm right. 

As long as sin exists in this world, it's going to hell, handbasket or not. And the kicker is, sin exists in me, so I'm part of the downhill slide. Its pretty stinkin' foolish of me to point out someone else sliding down the hill and yell, “This is all your fault!” Its a lot more sensible to reach out to that guy and try pulling us both out.

This doesn't mean giving up what you believe is right and wrong. It means making the decision that it isn't people who are right or wrong. It's ideas. 

People are beautiful, broken, amazing, amusing, complex, extraordinary, eternal creatures. There is an enemy—but they are not it. No matter what he looks like, no matter what he believes, no matter how he dresses or votes, a human is what C.S. Lewis describes in another brilliant quote.

“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.”

And that is why I will never again be in a cultural war.

pizza crust and epicness

I have an issue with dough. Pie dough, cookie dough, pizza dough. Not an issue with eating it. Unfortunately, I am waaaay too good at that. My issue is with any recipe that contains the words, “Roll out dough . . .” I hate rolling. Hate. It. Seriously, any substance that glues itself to a rolling pin that tenaciously needs to have its edibility questioned.

But you know what I've discovered recently? You can skip this step. Really. I made gluten-free cheese crackers to mail to me gluten-free daughter recently (who, by the way, did not even appreciate them and mentioned the words “wet cardboard” more than once) and, in the place where it said, “Roll out dough,” I handily substituted, “Shove dough into pan and pat down until flat, or until it calls on its rights to refuse search and seizure.” The last time I made pizza dough, I followed the same substitution. And pie.

You know what? It worked. Now, I am not a culinary genius, and I will never claim anything that emerges from my kitchen will taste like Rachel Ray. (I mean like her food, not actually like her. Ick.) But I will claim this—I know how to decide what is an important use of my time kitchen-wise and what is not. From now on, rolling dough is on the list of “not.” Maybe my pie crust will never be flaky fresh or State Fair fluted-edge gorgeous. This is a trade-off I can accept.

It occurs to me this is a lesson I can use elsewhere. In the College/Career group I'm leading at church, we're going through Donald Miller's Storyline workbook. His basic premise is that we all have a story that is our own, and we all need to decide how we're going to make that story happen epically, not just coast along through life like a bike ride in a cute rolling meadow. Or like a bicycle ride down Telegraph Hill in San Francisco, depending on the speed at which you have no idea where you're going.

Deciding how to make your story happen epically means deciding where you are going, why, and how you're getting there. It means—cutting out the things that use up your time that don't forward that story. Don't mistake what I'm saying. I'm not suggesting we all go around thinking, Hey, if I want a real life, I can't have any fun anymore or do anything completely useless like checking Facebook or playing Frisbee golf, or reading pointless blogs because, darn it, I need to be business all the time 24/7 from this moment forth.

No. Fun is good. We need fun. Even occasional pointlessness. And we need people, even people who don't appear to serve much function because, oh hey, it's not all about us and we might forget that if we dispose of people who take too much time. So don't do that.

What I am saying is—we all know places we're spinning our wheels pursuing things that don't forward our story. We hang onto doing those things because we feel guilty, or attached, needed, or at least wanted. We feel we ought to do them. But they maybe could move to our “not” list, because they don't add to the story. They suck our time but don't feed our passion. We grumble every time we do them, but we don't have the guts to stop.

Stop. Stop rolling the pizza crust. Just stick it in the pan and move on. Really. It will be OK. You'll still be wanted and needed because you'll be doing the things God meant for you to do, and that makes you a great person to hang with.

What's sucking your time lately that you know you need to let go of? How can we help each other?

spider gladiator

My daughter taught five year olds at church yesterday, which necessitated bravery she never expected to need in a church basement.

“Mom—I had to kill a spider today! Myself! Those little kids were watching me, and I had to be the big girl. But . . . I. Killed. A. Spider!”

If you knew child #3, you would know that's a level of bravery somewhere between getting in a shark tank and taking a bullet for her mother. I'm not going to speculate on which of those would be easier.

It made me remember my own moment of bravery beyond expectation.

For twenty-some years, I was a baby about needles. No, not a baby. Babies may scream, but they're basically immobile passive creatures. I, on the other hand, was the only kid to kick the doctor giving me a measles shot so hard he had to do it again. I suspect some level of spite may have been involved in his do-over.

I whimpered, whined, crawled under exam tables, and clasped my arms together like an armadillo facing a jaguar rather than have a single needle prick. Let me tell you, it's a tough squeeze to get under one of those tables when you're almost thirty.

Until the day I went to get my blood drawn and toted along my little girl. Not quite two, child #1 watched as I rolled up my sleeve and prepared to be the last gladiator standing. As I saw the nurse approach me with the needle of doom, I had one of those parent moments. I realized what would happen if I dissolved in terror. She would, too.

She would never understand that it was a momentary terror for me that would be over quickly. She would only know that mommy was scared out of her mind and, seeing that, she would assume the worst. She would know, in her little on-year-old mind, that these people were torturing mommy, and the end of the world was at hand. Terrified as I was of needles, one thing that morning was far more important to me. Not to cause my little girl terror of her own.

I had to be the big girl. I had to face that needle without flinching and not let her see the fear. (If this, incidentally, is where she got her strange fascination with phlebotomy, I claim no responsibility.)

I had given no thought until that morning to the effect my fears might have on others. Since then, I've given it a lot of thought. You have to when you've got three kids watching you. If you fear, they fear, and I did not want that crippling my baby girls. Not that I've been a textbook example. Ask them how I feel about making phone calls or talking to strangers. They know. Some things you just can't hide.

So the question today is—who's watching you when you don't know it? Who's taking his or her cues by what you run from? Or, possibly, what you kick and scream and dive under tables to get way from? Someone is. 

That made me sit up straight and smile through the fear, and you know what? That stupid fear of needles disappeared. Because when you stop allowing yourself to anticipate something in terror, it almost always loses its power. Which was a good thing, because between three kids, a thyroidectomy, and a kidney transplant, Iv'e been stuck with needles approximately 90 million times since then. Diving under that many tables is not an option.

I suspect my daughter will kill a few more spiders in her lifetime, and now she knows she can. Someone was watching her, and she needed to put them first in that moment.

I hope realizing that someone is watching you deal with the things you fear helps you sit up a little straighter today and smile through it. It works—I promise. 

ten seconds to validate your life

What's in your list of top five favorite movies of all time? Mine is a bit of a cheat, since three of them are in the Lord of the Rings series. That only leaves two slots to work with. But the first movie to make one of those slots did so way back in high school when I was introduced to Chariots of Fire. I didn't fully appreciate it then, but I soon did. I mention this because it contains one of my favorite scenes, and it is terribly appropriate for what I am feeling about now.

Harold Abrams waits for the culmination of his lifelong fight--winning an Olympic medal. While he prepares for the ten-second race that will validate his life, he faces his biggest fear. He fears that, once he reaches the pinnacle, he'll find it empty. He won't find that elusive validation there. He'll have no idea what to do.

For the last two weeks, I've been sensing that some of my hard writing work is about to pay off. There have been too many pieces falling into place, too many "coincidences" of God's word, too much perfect timing, even for me, the perpetual skeptic, not to see this. So--elation, right?

How about terror? This reaction was so not expected. Unlike Abrams, I am not afraid of being let down. But I am terribly afraid of letting others down. I'm afraid that I'll be found out. That I'm really not good enough. I can't write. I've been a poser all along, and now everyone will know it.

Plus, what might happen to my life? It would change. It would require work. Hard work. And adjustments to my schedules. And doing things I don't like, such as actually talking to people. I am totally unsure of whether or not I like this. And this reaction comes as such a shock.

I'm convinced, though, that the fear of success isn't all that uncommon. In fact, I suspect it cripples a lot of us. It's so much easier to stay where we are, where we know we're not challenged, where we're not exceptional, but we're comfortably OK. To chase down and tackle our dreams invites failure. Failure stinks. To succeed invites change. Change is scary. It's safer to coast.

What do you think? What do you do when you're scared to scale the peak you know is in front of you for a reason? Or is there a peak, and you know it, but you're pretty sure you'd rather stay safely on the plains?

I'll climb if you will. Actually, I'll climb even if you won't, because I have to do this. But I'd love it if you came along.