Don’t you ever fear forgotten, for you simply can’t be lost

Years ago I awoke one morning to an email from my oldest niece, Emily, with the subject line Math Fairy I Need You.

Dear Math Fairy,

I am in desperate need of your help! I wrote a poem about math to help you understand my feelings towards it. Hope you enjoy it :-(.

Through our exchange, I learned Emily has a poetry notebook in which she processed and expressed life.

(You can read the poem about math and my poetic attempt to speak her heart language here.)

When her Grandma Smith died, she wrote the poem that was used at her memorial service. It was so fitting that we used it for Dad’s service as well.

This year Emily is a junior and several good friends are seniors. Ah, the messy middle, where joy and celebration are bedfellows to sadness and loss. Is it any surprise she’s written poems about the goodbyes? Though often poems in general are over my head, these land squarely in my heart because I, too, over the years have said unwanted goodbyes.

I believe Emily’s words will help you. She’s started a blog and shares her poetry. It is with permission and pride that I share two here:

Goodbye
by Emily Smith

today I began to say goodbye

to a friend who’s off to bigger

and brighter things soon

I’ll still be stuck in this sandbox next year

come and visit—you can

play among the endless sands, too

for while I know my time will come

it’s not today

and now hurts fresh

as I feel softly brushed away

less than a year you’ve beat me

in the race to see the world

send a postcard

send a package

I’ll be here, waiting by the window

most days

staring at the birds outside

flying free

so goodbye

dear friend

don’t forget to write

~~~

Just Remember
by Emily Smith

This poem is dedicated to two of my closest friends who graduated last week. Best of luck, chicas, and remember that you will be loved and missed.

When you feel the world darken,

when it’s hard to hold the light,

just think upon this promise–

someone will always hold you tight.

You may be many miles away,

in a place far out of reach.

But remember that you’re treasured

with a love that’s hard to teach.

If they can’t hold you in their arms,

they’ll hold up a picture frame.

Someone will savor memories sweet,

they’ll hold close your face and name.

Don’t you ever fear forgotten, for

you simply can’t be lost.

After peoples’ bonds have grown

the pain becomes too great a cost.

I won’t pretty it up, my friend,

life is complex and full of twists.

But don’t deceive your honest heart:

you will be loved and missed.

~~~

Which line stands out to you? You can follow Emily’s blog Musings of a Logophile.

P.S. Stay tuned! Guess what time of year it is? Not only graduation season, it is also time for the annual Summer Reading Challenge! Later this week, the challenge will be shared! Be on the lookout for a few new options. Can’t wait!

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Do you let yourself dream?

The theme this week at Velvet Ashes is dream. I wrote the following post and thought it would be fun to hear your answers as well.

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We are long overdue for a community post! If this is your first Velvet Ashes Community post, here’s the gig: We’ll have a list of ten questions you can copy and paste into a comment—feel free to answer all ten questions or as many as you want! It’s fun to read through others’ responses and even respond to a few. Here are the ten questions and I’ll answer them below.

This week we have been talking about dreams, so these questions range from the silly to the serious when it comes to dreams.

How much sleep do you get on an average night? Are you more a light or heavy sleeper?
Do you tend to remember your dreams?
When you were a kid, what was your dream job?
Aristotle said, ““Hope is a waking dream.” What are you hoping for this week?
Do you let yourself dream? Or do you tend to squelch your dreams in order to avoid being hurt or disappointed?
What’s a “dream day” for you? What are you doing? Who are you with? Where are you?
Do you talk in your sleep? Snore?
What is one small way you can kindle a dream in this season?
Which “famous” person (loosely defined) would you like to meet?
JK Rowling said, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” Do you tend to ‘dwell on dreams and forget to live’ or ‘dwell on life and forget to dream’?

~~~

1. How much sleep do you get on an average night? Are you more a light or heavy sleeper? Ideally 8 hours, but my fitbit stats say 8 hours is a rarity for me. Honestly, if I can get 7.5, I’m okay. I go through waves of having a decent week of sleep and then will have several days that are terrible. I’m a fairly heavy sleeper.

2. Do you tend to remember your dreams? Vast majority, no. It’s the ones about people who have died (grandparents, Dad, friends) that I remember in the mornings.

3. When you were a kid, what was your dream job? In elementary school, the president of the U.S. In junior high, a lawyer. I am so glad on both fronts I didn’t get what I dreamed for :-)!

4. Aristotle said, ““Hope is a waking dream.” What are you hoping for this week? Oh this question threw me for a loop (even though I wrote it, HA!). I wanted to share something deep and profound because that feels like the “right” answer, but the truth is, what popped into my head and heart first is, “I hope All the News That’s Fit to Tell and How to Tell it, the book I released last week, continues to sell and help cross-cultural workers with their newsletters and I recoup my financial investment in it :-).” Want to win a free kindle copy? Enter this Giveaway and you could . . . two people will win!

5. Do you let yourself dream? Or do you tend to squelch your dreams in order to avoid being hurt or disappointed? I am an eternal optimist, so dreaming comes easily for me in most areas. Reality tends to be a big old kick in the pants for me.

6. What’s a “dream day” for you? What are you doing? Who are you with? Where are you? Oh golly, a dream day? Would have about 48 hours so I could do all I want! I love to lounge around in p.j.’s and read in the morning. Then I would go to the gym, later the temp would be mild and I could be outside with flowers. Meet a friend for lunch (see, already my morning has far more hours than is reality) and go see a movie or a sporting event. Now, that’s a day at home. I also love traveling with people I love, so being somewhere new, enjoying a historical place, stopping for a scone and a cup of tea, while having conversations throughout the day that span the deep to the silly and there are several times of deep laughter.

7. Do you talk in your sleep? Snore? I do neither, but I do grind my teeth, so I sleep with a mouth guard.

8. What is one small way you can kindle a dream in this season? Okay, this question just took me in an unexpected direction (if these questions are opening up parts of yourself you don’t normally create space to listen to, I’m right there with you). What came up is that I have the dream to build into and encourage leaders on the field. I long to pour into the next generation and support those of you right now in leadership positions. So, what is one small way I can kindle that dream right now? This spring with the Connection Group Facilitators I have been sharing small snippets every Tuesday called “Leading Tuesdays” and that has been food for my soul. But spring Connection Groups will end soon, so I am not sure. I need to sit with this question more.

9. Which “famous” person (loosely defined) would you like to meet? The first person who came to mind was Eugene Peterson. I know he is fading, so maybe five-years-ago Eugene Peterson. He was in ministry for the long haul and loved God, people, scholarship, and being engaged in real, messy community. Oh to chat with him! (Now that I have given this “spiritual” answer, it makes those of you who say “Beyonce!” look like jerks :). SORRY. I would also like to talk with Taylor Swift. I would like to have an honest chat about what living such a public life does to your soul, your friendships, your sense of community and purpose. I have a feeling she’s a deeper person than we may see. I could be wrong, that’s why I’d like to talk with her.)

10. JK Rowling said, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” Do you tend to ‘dwell on dreams and forget to live’ or ‘dwell on life and forget to dream’? Oh golly. Honestly, I tend to do both, but if I really had to pick, when I am stressed or not my healthiest, I dwell on life and forget to dream.

Over to you!

(Image by Karen Huber!)

All the News, Book

All the News That’s Fit to Tell is HERE

“When will your book be done?”

Go ahead, ask me. “When can I buy All the News That’s Fit to Tell and How to Tell It”?

I’ll try not to smile too big when I say, “Today!!!!!!!”

My proof copy—when I actually hold the book for the first time—arrived in time for my trip to Costa Rica. Volunteering at an Azmera Retreat, the second afternoon presented a workshop entitled “Newsletters Can Be Fun!” While my instagram was blowing up with “famous” authors all gathering in Michigan for the Festival of Faith and Writing, I was in a glorified closet (because it had good AC) talking to fellow cross-cultural workers about writing newsletters.

A small part of my missed that I was not with those in the “big league” when it comes to publishing books. But this room? These faces? This is why All the News—her nickname—exists. These women serving in Mexico, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua were like me. They did not see themselves as writers. They plant churches, they work with youth, they have multiple outreaches going on.

One of the dirty little secrets in the world of cross-cultural workers is how many feel shame and guilt when it comes to newsletter writing. What a terrible motivational speaker in their heads! To make add to the complexity, many do not think of themselves as writers.

But in this day and age, we all are writers because of email, text messages, social media, and yes, newsletters. Because cross-cultural workers generally do not see themselves as writers, those in this room didn’t know writing is a skill that can be improved on like any other skill. I wrote this book for them. I took all that I have learned writing books and translated it into newsletter speak.

(Side-note obviously all of their hair has adjusted to the humidity. Mine? My hair spent the week being very poofy. But I digress.)

They were God’s gentle reminder that there are thousands of cross-cultural workers who want to connect with supporters and long for a resource like this.

All the News is divided into four sections:

The Unseen Battle: Your mind-set
Newsletter Specific Writing
Simple Ways to Improve Your Writing
Developing as a Writer

Because launch day is FUN! All of my books are on Sale in Kindle for $2.99. Yes, this includes All the News for $2.99 (Kindle, regularly $7.99) and $10.00 in print. Sale ends Saturday morning in the U.S.

This is the third time I’ve launched and again I feel a bit like I’m saying to you, “Do you like my baby? Will you, my people help raise her? Will you stand with me in the good times and hard? Will you still like me even when she disappoints or does stupid things?”

And all the people said, “We will!”

You might wonder, That’s great, but I’m not sure what to do. What can I do? Here are eight ways you can help with this raising of All the News:

1. Celebrate! Of course I hope this book sells decently because I truly believe that better newsletters will strengthen the bond between writer and reader.

But if this books sells and I have no one to share it with, what have I gained? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What is worse than watching sports by yourself and having no one to high-five? Nothing. Okay, there are worse things, but in that moment, it’s pretty low.

I’m high-fiving you! Woot, woot! If you weren’t here reading this blog, there would be no book. This blog is where my own mindset shifted and I began to think of myself as a writer. We did it. Let’s enjoy this moment.

2. May I boldly suggest, buy a copy of All the News. Purchased copies through Amazon are the only way that Amazon will start to recommend All the News as an “also bought.”

3. But here is a simple way that won’t cost you a dime. This week it is annoyingly important to train the Amazon search engine—the second most powerful search engine right now. So, instead of clicking on the hyperlinked title, go to Amazon and in the search bar type in “all the news that’s fit to tell” FYI, Amazon only lets your device count once for searching for an item. So, thank you in advance to those of you just got the idea to pull up something on Netflix and hit the refresh button on Amazon and keep typing “all the news.” You can still do it, but Amazon will never know.

4. Suggest or give All the News to the head of your mission committee, a mission organization you know, or someone who has contacts in those worlds. Ask them if they would buy a copy for each of their cross-cultural workers. The best way a book sells is through word of mouth. If you tell them and they know you, they are much more likely to buy it. Physical copies available at a discount for orders of five copies or more.

5. Leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. It does not need to be five stars (though if that’s what your heart is saying, go with your heart!). Amazon is funny, she just likes to see the amount of reviews. The more reviews (even three or four star), the more Amazon will say, “Hey, maybe I should tell other people about this book.”

6. Tell someone about Love, Amy. You know tons of people I don’t know. You know people living in Sweden or working at this church or for that organization. You know you neighbor’s cousin who is moving to Brazil or your former coworker who writes boring newsletters. You know mission committee members and pastors and counselors.

7. Know a blogger? I would be honored to write a guest post or be interviewed. Know a podcaster? I’d love to talk about mindset, motivation, or other aspects of newsletter writing. Please put me in contact with them.

8. Take a picture with yourself and All the News and share on social media. Who doesn’t love a happy person with a book? And this cover will bring out the blue in your eyes.

Here is an image for Instagram:

Release days are so much fun! Next week I’ll share more about the back story for this particular book. I’m happy tired today.

As we launch this book and wait to see how God will use it, I want to end with the benediction I gave at the end of the acknowledgments:

I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:3

Love,

Amy

Contact form for inquiries as to me speaking to your group about transitions or newsletters, buying bulk orders, or your thoughts on the Broncos’ chances next year.

Book, Love Amy

Blog Tour—All Aboard

I have been me for . . . all my life. So, why am I still surprised surprise myself?

I am a consistent under-estimater of how much time a new endeavor involves. I had heard of “blog tours,” but in reality knew little of them. Last November I reached out to Celebrate Lit to see if Love, Amy would be a good fit for a blog tour. Turns out LA was! And thus began my education on blog tours.

In essence, by hiring Celebrate Lit to host a tour, they would set up a certain number of bloggers who would review Love, Amy and agree to write a blog post on a given day, thus helping new readers learn about books. Part of my responsibility was to provide a fun prize for the tour. Coming up with a good prize was the tricky part for me. But since the book is a series of letters, I decided on a letter writing gift basket complete with gift cards, an Amazon gift card, and a page of Love, Amy stamps. (The cover is on a stamp!).

If you know of authors who are looking for a way to promote their book, I highly recommend Celebrate Lit. Sandra has been a dream to work with and the level of professionally has exceeded all expectations. Yesterday was the first day of the tour, it runs from April 19th to May 2nd and you can also enter to win the gift basket!

My responsibilities:

Write the launch post
Provide all of my author info and social media links
Provide the book to reviewers. I mailed physical books to those who wanted them and got the mobi or PDF files to those who wanted to read it electronically
Come up with a compelling gift
During the tour, reply to comments on the blogs each day
After the tour, mail the gift basket to the winner

Here are the stops along the tour:

Blog Stops

Reading Is My SuperPower, April 19

Inklings and notions , April 20

Eat, Read, Teach, Blog, April 20

Book Reviews From an Avid Reader, April 21

Mary Hake, April 21

Texas Book-aholic, April 22

Carpe Diem, April 23

A Baker’s Perspective, April 24

Simple Harvest Reads, April 25 (Guest post from Mindy Houng)

All-of-a-kind Mom, April 26

Artistic Nobody, April 27 (Spotlight)

Lots of Helpers, April 27

Bibliophile Reviews, April 28

proud to be an autism mom, April 29

A Greater Yes, April 29

Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations, April 30

Janices book reviews, April 30

Jeanette’s Thoughts, May 1

Bigreadersite, May 2

margaret kazmierczak, May 2 (Interview)

Doesn’t that kind of blow your mind? I have only read the post at Reading Is My SuperPower. written by Carrie. She normally reads fiction but is an TESOL teacher so decided to read Love, Amy. Fun to heard why someone was drawn to a book.

Below is the post I wrote for the launch.

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The tug for a life that is “Anything but Boring”

When I was in college the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie Sarah Plain and Tall changed my life. You’ve probably seen it and been moved too. Sarah, a spinster by the standard of her day, moves from Boston to the fields of Kansas to consider marrying a widower and help him raise his children and work his farm. Her brother could not understand why Sarah would move from so-called civilization to the middle of nowhere. But the longing she felt for her life to matter resonated deeply with me.

I was in the liminal space between adolescence and adulthood. Like Sarah, I knew I could stay where I was and live a good life, but I wanted more. And so I moved to China.

Our world is one that loves big, change-the-world stories. I love them too. I remember reading The End of the Spear, the story of Jim Elliott and his friends who were martyred for their faith. I also lost myself in the stories of Gladys Aylward, William Carey, Lottie Moon, and Amy Carmichael. I remember reading about a missionary that had some worm pulled out of his stomach that was the size of a large snake. Disgusting! Fascinating! All for the gospel!

The life of faith was exciting and God was on the move all the time! While it is true, the life of faith is exciting and God is on the move, it is also ordinary, boring, disappointing, and confusing. When I started compiling the letters I wrote from my days in China, I was embarrassed by what “first year Amy” said. She was so clueless, so uninformed, so willing to display her lack of cultural knowledge. I wanted to put my hand over her mouth and ask her to please pipe down because she did not really believe what she was saying. But she did, “first year Amy” could not know what “fifteen year in China Amy” knew.

These change the world stories I love? Turns out they have been more sanitized than I realized without showing the cultural and ministry progression that must have taken place.

Even now, knowing what I know, part of me wishes my newsletters contained miracles and throngs coming to Christ because of my work. I thought throngs and miracles were what a “real” cross-cultural worker would do. I thought that would show that my life mattered, like Sarah’s when she moved to Kansas. Don’t we all want our lives to matter? I believed that mattering was measurable. By compiling and writing this book the lesson Love, Amy has taught me is that too often we confuse size with significance. I still hear the whisper that says, “Amy, really? You wrote about the cultural beliefs that influence standing in line and you think that is worth people giving of their prayer, money, and time?” Part of me is reluctant even now to publish these letters because they are common. In truth, I am happy with my life and the contributions I have made. Of course I have regrets and wish I’d handled certain situations differently. But if all we hear are the spectacular stories, we can miss the gift our beautifully ordinary lives can be.

Who made it into the Gospels? A widow and her two mites. A boy and his few fish. She is described as offering out of her poverty. His common lunch was used to feed more than he could have imagined. Jesus did not tend to elevate those in power or those who seemed impressive.

My first year, a fellow teacher in China told me, “You’re lucky you’re still in your first year. Wait until your second year and you have told all your stories. You’ll have nothing to say in your newsletters.” Isn’t that the heart of what we fear—that we will have nothing to say with our lives? The secret to combating this fear is not that secretive. Show up and be present. Taken individually, these letters don’t add up to much, but put them together and much to my surprise, month after month I wrote an accidental memoir.

As ordinary as it is, I do have to say, life in China was anything but boring! If you love memoirs and want to hear stories that will make you laugh or cringe (and sometimes both), join me on a college campus in China.

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Had you heard of blog tours? Are you like me and underestimate how much time is involved in something new (like a blog tour? Though, totally worth it! Just classic Amy)?

Community, Grief

The question is answered

I wrote the following post four Aprils ago. I remember those mandarin oranges. I remember the rawness of grief.

Here is what I miss: the rawness meant that Dad had recently been a part of our lives. We are no longer in such a raw place, which comes with its own blessings. But last week I was driving a niece to something and we discussed that it has already been four years since Grandpa died. Four.

In this post I asked the question “When?” The funny answer was . . . that very day! As I was working on this post, my mom threw out the mandarin oranges. Four years later, we are not in the raw grief phase. I share this short post to remind all of us that life is moving along. If you are in a hard phase, it won’t always be hard. If you are in a good phase, pause, savor, and enjoy.

I can’t remember if I bought the mandarin oranges before or after my dad died. Of this I am sure, we needed fruit. Most of the mandarin oranges have been eaten, but a few remain in their mesh bag near the back of the refrigerator.

This is where you might find me disgusting. I find myself a bit disgusting. So, whatever.

They are beginning to shrivel. Not bad, not to the point they could be used as the head of a doll, shrunken down and dried out.

I have thought often in the last week about why I can’t yet bring myself to throw them out. My mind wanders to the lovely poem by William Carlos Williams and the plums in the refrigerator. We passed the lovely stage a while ago.

Do you have to read this short story in high school? The one where the lady dies—was she in her wedding dress?—and years later her body is found, dried and shriveled up in her bed. I think of that story when I open the refrigerator and watch the mandarin oranges slowly shrinking with the passing of time. Her family members become less creepy by the day. More relatable.

Maybe I’m becoming more creepy. Less relatable.

When I bought the damn things they were mere fruit. When did they become the marker that time is passing? Without my choosing, they have moved to “as long as they remain in there, we’re not that far from when Dad died” land.

It’s funny what we choose to hold or mark our stories. I know time is moving on. The day we moved Dad into hospice there were icicles the size of swords hanging down, and now spring flowers have come and nearly gone. The flowers don’t tug at my heart.

But those mandarin oranges, they get to me. And I close the door and wonder when I’ll be able to throw them out.

*****

Faith, Holiday

When Resurrection Comes Slowly

Jesus died.

But death was not the end. Death could not hold him. Hallelujah!

Rising from the dead, he set us free from the sin that so easily entangles (Hebrews 12:1), we are no longer captives (Luke 4:18), and we are joint-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17).

Jesus’ death and resurrection informs many of our core beliefs. And this is right and good.

But look at these examples, what do you notice?

Jesus died on Friday. On Sunday he rose from the dead, never to taste death again!

Lazarus died. Four days later, when even his sister was concerned about the stench, Jesus asked for the stone to be removed. “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out.

Jairus asked Jesus to heal his dying daughter. She died. His friends said, “Why bother the teacher.” Jesus said, “Do not be afraid. Just believe.” He went with Jairus to his house and said to his daughter, “Little girl, I say to you, get up.” Immediately she stood up and began to walk around.

That’s what I’m talking about! Death over life. That is our Jesus! That is the power of our God! That is the story of resurrection.

But.

But I notice in all three examples that at most, it took four days and, in every case, resurrection occurs in a moment. Someone was dead, now they are not.

I believe Jesus, Lazarus, and Jairus’ daughter died and experienced resurrection. Even though it is not the norm, I believe God can raise people from the dead even today. I believe in resurrection. But instantaneous resurrection is not my story.

I live in the northern hemisphere so winter is waning. I was thinking about this post as I pulled up to my home, noticing the grass along the edges of the yard. What looks like a big-ol carpet of brown was beginning to have splashes of green.

Green!

Can I tell you how much my soul prefers green grass to brown? I bet your soul is the same.

I want Jesus to say to me, “Amy, do not be afraid, just believe.” And then stop by my home for a cup of tea and a chat. On his way in, he notices the grass and says, “Little grass, I say to you, be green!” And in an instant, it is, because He’s Jesus and if He tells you to be green, and alive, you can’t help it.

But when I review my life, this is more how resurrection has gone.

I have experienced death. Death of dream, a relationship, a hope, a project, a loved one. Something was taken from me and I experience loss and confusion and anger. I thought I would be THERE doing THAT. I planned that my life would look like THIS and it doesn’t. I assumed that my training meant certain doors would open, but instead they slammed in my face.

So, like you, I’ve tasted death.

Jesus has said to me, “Amy, do not be afraid, just believe.” Like Jairus, he has come home with me. But unlike Jairus, when he sees the death I have experienced, he has said, “Let’s make a cup of tea and sit in the front yard and watch new life return.”

I have tasted resurrection too, but it has not been instantaneous. It has been slow. It has taken months or years. Sometimes the old dead thing has come back to life in a new form. Other times, something different but good has come along. Life has come after death.

I see it! I celebrate it! I am humbly grateful for it.

At this time of year, we tell of His death and celebrate resurrection. Hallelujah!

If you are in a season of sitting with Jesus in your front yard, barely able to look at Him because the new life he is offering you is slow in coming, please don’t lose heart.

The stories we tell at this time of year can inadvertently confuse “real” with “fast.”

Resurrection is real. But sometimes it is slow. Jesus has not abandoned you, he’s waiting with you, anticipating the grass to change blade-by-blade.

(A version of this first appeared on Velvet Ashes)

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Meet Abbie Smith and Win a book!

I love meeting new people and am excited for you to meet my friend Abbie Smith and offer you a chance to win a book. Friends + books? This is going to be fun!

Hello, I’m Abbie, wife to Micah, mom to Elliana, Eden and Aaliya, newly adopted from India, and author. My husband was raised as a missionary kid in Japan, and I was raised at a country club in Roswell, Georgia. Having become a follower of Jesus in college, I quickly fell in love with his love for the nations, and lived for short stints in China, Paris, South Africa and Uganda. Even though my life and calling feels situated in little ol’ Savannah, Georgia these days, one of the highlights of my week is Friday afternoons when the kids and I pick-up our Pakistani friend and gather with about fifty other refugee women and their slew of children for “English Club.

Do you remember how we met? :-)

Sometimes I think dementia is setting-in early for me, so forgive me if this memory is jaded, but I recall our introduction being your marvelous Mother’s Day post some years back. I had recently released a book on singleness and was struck by your articulate and gracious reflections from an unmarried perspective. I knew I liked you and reached out in hopes of becoming friends. Since then, its been meaningful to loosely follow one another’s writings and various seasons. Someday I dream of actually meeting face to face!

It was that post! I remember taking a picture with a statue of a fancy cow in Beijing as a picture of me with you and writing about how gracious you were. I don’t remember how, but I asked you if you wanted to be added to my ministry updates and you said yes. But I have the strongest memory of when i knew we had turned a corner and were becoming friends. I was in line to go through the Denver airport and you replied to a ministry update. I was touched you read it and responded. Since then, you have the uncanny gift of emailing while I am in line at DIA. It is our unofficial “special spot” :).

I love talking to people about the story behind the story! What lead you to write Stretch Marks?

Ah yes, I suppose there’s always a story behind the story, eh. I think for Stretch Marks, it was one of the few times when I would lie awake at night still stuck in a blog or journal entry. Typically I’m a forward thinking person, and will write a post, or experience a story, but once it’s over I move on. Something about the pages of my journal that season, and the words and ways it seemed God was speaking to me, wouldn’t stop bugging me though. And when I would share aspects of it with other women, often the response would be, “Why aren’t we talking about this stuff more often?” The content was specific to where I was, as newly married, or a new mom, but it was also clearly hitting a more universal nerve, about being and becoming a woman, made in the image of God. I wasn’t in the mood to write another book, and yet felt as though I also wasn’t supposed to keep these thoughts to my journal. I worked-up a proposal and sent it to two publishers. One said no and the other said yes, so the yes choice and I decided to give it a try.

I bet even the writing of Stretch Marks brought stretch marks you didn’t expect! Could you share a few?

Oh la la, as a four on the Enneagram, I especially love this question. The process of writing and publishing Stretch Marks ran simultaneously with the adoption of our third child. Frankly, I genuinely thought (and hoped) once the stage of singleness was done, so would be the brunt of “waiting” woes in life. (I guess I also though stretch marks only drew themselves on the outside of one’s thighs – ha – how misled I was on both accounts!) The stretch marks of waiting induced by the writing and publishing process of this book, alongside the gaping ones proceeding Aaliya’s homecoming from India, were brutal. Likewise, maybe it sounds unspiritual, but I wasn’t expecting the profound communion Jesus and I got throughout this writing process. It was one of those times when the writing itself led me to unseen layers, and as it turned out, even a main theme of the book. Through the actual writing of it, in other words, I came upon areas of intimacy and empathy with our brother Jesus that I simply wasn’t expecting. Particularly in regards to him being “stretched” during his time on earth to unfathomable layers for the sake of love. Loving me. Loving us. For the sake of eternal love.

What is your hope for this book?

I think “success” would mean a lot of #metoo’s, as well as women walking away from the pages assured that where they are matters. And not just matters, but images God in a profound way. As its summary on Amazon notes, “In some ways becoming a wife and mother was as exhilarating as I envisioned; in other ways it was stifling and painstakingly ordinary. A candid memoir about growth, faith and belonging, Stretch Marks I Wasn’t Expecting delves with startling honesty into conversations about infertility and inner-city living, mommy wars and the incarnation, letdowns of marriage and learning to notice God in the mundane.” So I suppose I can only hope women would feel rapport and rest in this soul bearing bunch of pages.

Tell us a little about your retreat center! You know I hope to visit in person some day!

It’s lovely; please come visit! For going on three years now, we’ve been the caretakers of Wesley Gardens Retreat in Savannah, Georgia. (If you’re an Instagram’er, it’s @wesleygardenslife.) Having studied spiritual formation and soul care in graduate school, it’s hard to believe I’m actually living-out that degree so literally by working at a retreat center. Granted, my husband (Micah) does 99% of the care-taking, but someday when littles ones are no longer the brunt of my daily hours, I look forward to engaging more with the likes of spiritual direction and lending more shape to the retreat.

What projects are you working on these days?

Aside from attempting to stay present to my little people, and bits of discipleship with gals in Savannah, don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually working on a children’s book. That’s the first time I’ve typed out those words – eeeek. It’s still in embryonic stages, but I’m partnering with a wonderful illustrator and honestly feel as though this might be the most important project I’ve ever worked on. I’ll keep you posted!

Abbie, so fun to chat. Thanks for taking the time!

Friends, if you would like to win a copy of Stretch Marks (or win it for a friend!), leave a comment. What draws you to this book? What draws you to Abbie (she’s lovely, isn’t she?). Even if you haven’t been pregnant, we’ve all got stretch marks. How has God been stretching you these days?

Book

When a fictional character becomes real

You know I lead the Book Club at Velvet Ashes. In February we read The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason.

Placed in the 1880s, Edgar, a piano tuner in London and was commissioned by the military to go to Burma and tune a piano of an important British military leader. His wife Katherine wasn’t able to go with him, but was excited and supportive of the trip.

On the long trip, he faithfully wrote her and shared his journey. He continued writing as he traveled inland to Mandalay. It was only when he went out to the remote area in Mae Lwin to tune the piano that he stopped writing.

I don’t want to give too much away about the plot, but after the first few chapters, Katherine isn’t in the book except when Edgar writes to her or speaks of her.

I know that Katherine isn’t real, but she feels real to me. I keep thinking about her.

At the end of the book I realized Katherine was going to be left in the dark about much of Edgar’s trip.

What?

What?!

She must have been reeling, to have a black hole of information and no one to ask. I cannot imagine the pain.

In a twist of odd timing, last Friday night I had dinner with my teammate Hannah from the summer of 2006. We spent several weeks together in Tibet and she now lives in Denver. After dinner, as her three young children wrestled around us, somehow after all these years we touched on our teammate Carol.

The picture below was taken at the Jokhang Temple. Hannah is on the far left, I’m next to her, and Carol is far right.

Carol was around my age at the time, mid-30s, single, a teacher, and proud auntie. Unlike me, she had a serious boyfriend who just could not pull the trigger and propose, though they had dated for years. We clicked. I knew we would be friends post trip. That summer she had horrible back pain and I spent a lot of time helping her try and find relief.

When the trip was over, she flew back to America and I flew to Beijing to help my organization with the orientation for those new to the field. I received an email from Carol that the doctors couldn’t figure out what was going on but thought it was a parasite. That was the last communication we had.

The next email was from our organization saying she had liver cancer and had one week to be at home before she would be taken to a hospice facility.

What?

What?!

The next email was that she had died. Because of privacy policies (these were new at the time and people were still figuring boundaries) we could send a condolence card to the headquarters, but we could have no contact with her mother.

I was so thrown by her death and the suddenness of it. We were just in Tibet. She was alive and we were serving together and having adventures. And now I couldn’t even tell her mom how sorry and shocked I was? How knowing her daughter, albeit briefly, meant something to me.

I knew her hometown in Nebraska so I searched online and found three people who could be her mom and I called them. I found Carol’s mom. Long story short, her mother was grateful to hear about Carol’s summer because there hadn’t been time to talk, to share stories, to go over pictures. Her mom asked if she could mail me all of Carol’s pictures and if I would label who was in them, where we were, and what we were doing.

Of course I said yes. It helped me. It helped Carol’s mom. But who can help Katherine make sense of her confusing ending?

Who?

Katherine, you may be fictional, but you are real to me and I’m sorry.

Image designed by Karen Huber.

Family, Grief

The Paradox of Life and Death

Today marks the fourth anniversary of my dad’s death.

After spending several days in the liminal space between life and death, he died at 2:02 p.m. surrounded by the tribe who called him husband, father, and father-in-law. We kissed his hollowed-out-by-disease-and-death-cheeks an hour or so later for the last time and went to Elizabeth’s home before his granddaughters returned from school.

You know how a few scenes get seared in your memory? I remember sitting there, all of us adults waiting for them. First Granddaughter returned from junior high and her eyes lit up at the sight of all of us, followed by the quick realization “Wait, if they are all here, that means . . . ” and going immediately to her mother, burying her face because death is so shocking even when expected, it must be borne alone for a moment.

The scene was repeated within the hour when the other three returned from their school. And together we sat as a family, letting the reality of the new normal sink in. We would still gather as a tribe, but never again with him in person.

We are now four years out. Four years is enough to be confusing. Within the same sentence we speak as if he had been dead for years and years and also as if it has only been a short while.

Last weekend I found more piles of papers and notebooks in the basement. One thick three-ringed binder stood out to me. My dad was the co-chairman of the pastor search committee in the early 90s; the notebook held the minutes from every meeting and several applications. Every application, still in the enveloped it was mailed in, had a check list stapled to it and had been completed by a committee member—complete with a brief handwritten summary of what stood out to them about a candidate.

None of this is that spectacular. Churches form search committees the world over.

What struck me was how so much of what my father believed in and embodied was preserved in that notebook. The committee met almost weekly for twenty months. Twenty! For a frame of reference, I pulled out my phone and counted back twenty months to June of 2016.

About a year into the process, they had a final candidate and called him, which is church-speak for “offered him the job.” At the last minute, the candidate withdrew.

Oh the agony!! All that work “wasted.” What could the committee do, but regroup and keep opening envelopes and completing check lists they would staple to the front. Eventually another candidate was called and the final minutes were written and placed in a notebook. To be left in the basement. To be found by a daughter nearly twenty five years later. To serve as evidence.

Let’s start with the obvious, again, the legacy of paper. I keep thinking there cannot possibly be any more news clippings, cards, bank statements, or notebooks left to sort through. And I keep being wrong. What I see now, four years out, is that I seriously underestimated my father’s ability to find beauty and meaning in the minute of life. The ordinary is worth recording and remembering.

He was a person also who embodied loyalty and dedication for the long haul, even in the face of disappointment. Week after week his name was on the minutes under “attended.” But his was not the only name. Ellie, Mike, Butch, and others appear again and again. Dad valued being a part of a group, he was no lone wolf. Being a part of a committee is beautiful and messy, and in the end, worth it.

Four years is enough time for the raw shock of grief to have sifted away, replaced by the dull ache of loss. I have been thinking of the paradox of life and death.

Some people are alive, but mostly dead on the inside. Others are dead, but yet still alive.

Tom Young, my father, is the second. He lived in such a way, that though dead, he is also still alive. He challenges me to live in the same way. While I will leave far less paperwork than he, I still know my life will be sorted through some day. Files I meant to get to, or pictures that meant the world to me, or part of my life I couldn’t bear to part with in life, will be looked at and evaluated by friends and family.

My hope and prayer is that I will be found in a similar state to my dad: invested in people, valuing relationships, being part of commitments that far out live me, having one hell of a ride (he had more broken bones than anyone I’ve known), and a laugh that filled a room.

Dad, it has been four years since we kissed your cheeks goodbye. I don’t think this will surprise you, but I look at old men now for a glimpse of you in them. I recently went up to an old man at the end of a church service and told him I had a strange request, that it was nearing the anniversary of my dad’s death and he reminded me of you. Could I hug him? He stepped away from his walker and embraced me. I miss you. I love you. I wanted to talk about the Broncos all fall with you! I hope you knew how much you are still with us, what a difference your life made. How we are all the richer because of you. And that when the day comes that I find and sort through your final piece of paper, I will wish you had kept even more . .. though not really :). You still make me laugh. Your generosity with time and money challenge me (and I know Elizabeth and Laura too!). The way you loved Mom and us, your family, is the gift that keeps on giving and giving. Thank you. With love, Amy

Ending Chapters, Faith, Personality

Turning 50: When the odometer on your life turns over a new decade

I see my life as a series of peaks with each peak representing ten years. It could be because I am from Colorado, famous for mountains and snow, or it could be this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere, but I see these peaks blanketed in beautiful powder snow.

When a new “zero” comes around, I picture myself at the top of one of the peaks. I am able to see the decade behind me and the picture my footsteps made the in the snow. Step-by-step 30 becomes 31 and 32 and 33 and the years pass until my final step on that peak is taken.

Often I have a different perspective when I look back and survey the decade behind me than I did at the in the middle of the steps I took. Parts are fun to review, others, frankly I care less about with time; on occasion, I can see how good came out of seasons that I never could have anticipated good when I was in the middle of them.

Then I turn and look at the fresh snow before me—the next decade I will live. I wonder how my story will continue? How will it change? What do I hope to see as I look back when I reach the next peak?

Not all of my thoughts are deep. I wonder if this will finally be the decade that my beloved Denver Broncos (American football) and Kansas Jayhawks (the most amazing university in America) will each be champions in the same year. That, that my friends will be a year to behold!

I do not have any clear memories of turning 10 or 20. Age 30 found me celebrating in Chengdu (China) and I rang 40 in by “making” my community in Beijing come to a murder mystery dinner in the midst of all the busyness of the holidays. I remember turning 30 and 40, looking back at my footsteps of my life in the snow. In many ways, my 20s and 30s were nothing like what I had anticipated when it came to specific plans I thought might unfold. But in ways that matter, they went “according to plan” – grow, invest, enjoy, laugh, befriend.

I reached another peak last week. I am at the beginning of a fresh decade. The landscape of white in front of me. It is my year of jubilee. I am 50! (and I am 50? What in the world!)

I am aware that my dad only saw two peaks beyond where I stand. I am not guaranteed to see even that many.

You are also at the beginning, maybe not of a decade, but of a fresh year—be it in the Church Year or the calendar year. The snow is freshly fallen and you have yet to take many steps.

The theme last week at Velvet Ashes was “fresh,” what freshness do you need as you travel through 2018?

Do you need in your home, in your work, within yourself:

Fresh peace

Fresh hope

Fresh love

Fresh faith

A fresh sense of anticipation

A fresh perspective

A fresh mindset

A fresh understanding of God himself

A fresh relationship with your health

A fresh understanding of what it means to serve cross-culturally

Fresh joy!

Fresh communication skills

Fresh cultural insight

~~~

“Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’” (from Revelation 21)

Behold.

Savor that word. Let it roll around on your tongue. Behold.

Though this verse is about the new heaven and the new earth, we know God is in the business of making all things new. As you stand at the mini-peak of this new year, behold! God can give you fresh hope, fresh love, fresh joy, fresh long-suffering.

What do you need God to make fresh in you and your life? I said that my goals are to “grow, invest, enjoy, laugh, befriend”—what are the overall goals of your life?

A version of this first appeared on Velvet Ashes. Image by Karen Huber.

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