I’ve been writing a few devotions for my parent’s church website. This is the first one that hasn’t already appeared on this blog.

So, please hop over to Grace Community Fellowship and check it out!

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We recently spent quite a bit of time on the road and my husband, being a wise and loving mate, knew that the best place for me was in the far back seat of the van.
Horizontal. Asleep.

He claimed this was all in my best interest, but I suspect it was because he couldn’t bear the thought of the long drive ahead with me in the passenger seat, gasping and clutching the door, slamming on that imaginary brake pedal in the floorboard and providing him with a running commentary on the distance to the nearest 18-wheeler.

So I climbed into the backseat, propped up on three pillows, and watched the world go by at 60 70 80? miles per hour. I looked for shapes in the clouds. I took note of the way the blue of the sky and the green of the trees make for a very pleasing palate and congratulated myself on choosing it for our nursery eight years ago (yes, our first child is a girl but in case you haven’t figure this out yet, I don’t care for pink). I observed that the trucks speeding by in the opposite lanes passed us so quickly it was almost impossible to read the writing on the side. I tried not to ponder that for long. And after a little while, I fell asleep.

Amazingly enough, we arrived at our destination without any difficulty.

No accidents. No speeding tickets. No drama.

And it made me wonder.

Does God ever wish I would just shut up and climb in the backseat?

How much of my time and energy is spent slamming on my own spiritual brake pedal, clutching and grasping at the things I hold so dear, begging Him to slow down, asking Him if He’s paying attention, questioning His reasoning?

Would my journey be more pleasant if I let Him take me wherever He wants, whenever He wants, however fast or slow He wants, and let Him do it without whining about His methods?

Would our relationship be sweeter if I sat with Him, chatting with Him, enjoying His presence, learning more about Him, trusting Him to get me where He wants me to go, instead of nagging and whining and second-guessing?

I don’t think He wants me to disengage completely, crawl off into the backseat and just say “whatever, Lord” in a fit of pique.

I do think it is easy to say we trust.

But so much harder to get out of the driver’s seat and sit in the passenger seat without fear.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. (Mark 9:24)

My friend, Edie Melson

Edie Melson is a gifted author, co-founder of The Christian Writer’s Den, and a faculty member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. Her resume is impressive but the reason I love her is because she is one of the first people who made me feel like a “real” writer.

Now, for those of you who read this blog regularly, or just want a laugh, scroll back to the post Brownie Bliss  – that episode was entirely Edie’s fault! While Edie is responsible for me eating quite a few brownies, there’s no question that my writing is better because of her wisdom and her willingness to tell me when something needs to be changed, improved or deleted. She is a constant source of encouragement to me and her blog, The Write Conversation, is a must read for writers and people who love them.

So, imagine my delight when she agreed to let me post a book review each month on her blog. OK – I did sort of back her into a corner about it. I’m pretty sure when she asked our writers group she was hoping for someone more experienced to take her up on it, but hey, she did ask. And I did offer. And well, here you go . . .

http://thewriteconversation.blogspot.com/2010/08/thursday-review-writing-for-soul.html

My book review of Jerry B. Jenkins Writing for the Soul. Leave me a comment over at The Write Conversation and let me know what you think. Um . . . unless you think it’s terrible. You can leave the negative comments over here at Out of the Boat!

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Proverbs 12:25 – Anxiety in a man’s heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad. (ESV)

I have an acquaintance who never fails to compliment me on some aspect of my attire.

 Now, this might be a normal occurrence for many of you, but as I have never been accused of being a fashionista, it’s a rare event for me. She doesn’t gush or tell me I look like I’ve lost 30 pounds (which, while it would be nice if it was true, hasn’t happened yet). She points out simple things like “I love your necklace” or “that sweater looks great with that top”. As I am slightly paranoid about most of my outfits (unless my sister picked them out), I can’t help but be gratified.

It may be shallow, but I like a compliment.

I’ve had several people who have recently provided a word of encouragement at just the right moment.

A random comment at Bible study from someone, telling me how much she enjoys the blog – I didn’t know she’d ever read it – made my day.

Another friend just today added an encouraging comment about my writing to the end of a non-writing related note. There’s no way she could have known that the summer schedule, while fun for me and the kids, is brutal to the writing lifestyle I’m attempting to carve out for myself. But her words were soothing to my anxious spirit.

And then there’s the priceless moment when someone tells me I’m doing a good job as a mom. Especially when it comes on a day when I’m feeling like the worst mom on earth.

I’ve been wondering how often I fail to encourage someone because I’m too busy to pay attention, or because I assume that they are so put-together, so confident, so sure, that anything I might say would be meaningless. When, in reality, there is no way for me to know what’s happening behind closed doors—what frustrations or fears they are facing—or how close to the breaking point they are.

And I wonder, as someone who is rarely at a loss for words, if I shouldn’t do a better job and use my powers for good. I’d love it if when people walk away from me, rubbing their ears because I’ve been talking for fifteen, twenty, OK, fine, thirty minutes straight, they walk away with a glad heart because my words weren’t self-absorbed and self-focused, but were a message of encouragement, soothing to an anxious heart.

Father, let it be.

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I’m a wimp.

A cream puff.

A marshmallow.

I’m so not cut out to be a writer.

I’m anaphylactically allergic to criticism. And this doesn’t apply only to my writing life. This is just who I am. I have the type of personality that always wants to be right. Not in the “I’m right and you’re wrong” way but in the “I’ll die of humiliation if I answer the question wrong so I’m not going to raise my hand, even though I know the answer” way.

The upside to being paranoid about making mistakes is that it has made me into a very conscientious person. If you ask me to do something, I’ll do it. And then I’ll go over it 100 times to be sure it’s right. And then I’ll call you a few days later to see if it met your expectations.

Again. I shouldn’t be writing.

Because all writing requires some form of criticism.

And, criticism + Lynn = hyperventilation.

Each time I send a writing sample off to someone, whether it’s for an assignment, or a guest blog, or because they asked to read a few chapters of my book, it just about kills me.

OK. I’ll admit that I’m a teensy bit prone to exaggeration.

But the heart palpitations, sweaty palms, upset stomach. Aren’t those symptoms of dreadful things — like heart attacks?

So what’s a would-be writer to do? When all the traditional advice says that she must develop a thick skin if she’s going to survive but when the transformation from thin to thick-skinned would require a personality transplant?

I tend to assume that thick-skinned people send off their work and don’t worry about it. They don’t spend time refreshing their email in case someone has commented on their blog and their hands don’t shake when they open up an email that will tell them whether their work has been accepted for publication. They certainly don’t lose sleep over what some anonymous person said about their book in an Amazon review.

But maybe — just maybe — that isn’t the case at all.

Maybe the thick-skinned person isn’t the person who stands tall and lets the waves of criticism roll by.

Maybe the thick-skinned person is the one the waves of criticism throw to the ocean floor and keep them submerged so long they begin to wonder if they’ll ever surface.

But when they are finally able to catch their breath, they don’t run for the shore.

They stand up.

And let the waves do it all over again.

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I can’t remember not knowing Bible verses.

Lots of them.

It should be noted that my mother claims I could quote John 3:16 at eighteen months. As the mother of a twenty-two month old who can barely say please and thank-you, I find her assertion difficult to believe.

(Every mother believes her children are brilliant. Mine seems particularly prone to this delusion! I love you mom!)

Nevertheless, my childhood was full of Scripture memory. My mother taught me verses at home, I learned verses in Sunday School and then later in school and Awana.

And I praise God for the gift of a mind full of Scripture. Because for one thing, I know that not everyone grew up with Bibles and Bible stories and not everyone had the opportunity to attend Vacation Bible School and Awana.

And people who didn’t grow up learning Scripture and yet manage to memorize multiple passages are impressive to me.

Because there’s another reason I’m glad I learned Scripture as a child.

It is WAY harder now.

I can quote verses I learned in Sparks as a first grader. Chapter and Verse. King James Version. No sweat.

But the Psalm – the three verse Psalm – I would like to memorize this summer?

Not so much.

I can get the general idea, but memorizing the words so they fall off the tongue with ease . . . it’s a struggle. And even if I nail it once, it just doesn’t seem to stick the way the verses I learned as a child do.

I’ve been wondering why this is? Is it because my brain is too busy sifting through the noise of my life?

Or, is it because I’m just not making enough effort.

Ouch.

Hmm…as my dad would say, I just stopped preaching and went to meddling.

Sorry.

Anyway, here’s what I’d like to know.

Do you try to memorize Scripture now and if so, how do you do it?

And, how did you/are you teaching your children Scripture? This is an area I feel I’ve fallen way short on. I don’t want to leave it up to Sunday school teachers and Awana leaders.

So help me out. Leave me a comment. And while you’re at it, tell me what your favorite verse is!

(You don’t have to have it memorized!)

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Today is “Embrace Your Geekness” day.

I am not making this up!

The definition of geek is difficult to pin down. But I think we tend to apply the term “geek” to anyone/anything that is different from the norm.

I like to think of my geekness as endearingly quirky. I recognize that this is delusional, but I’m happy with this delusion.

So, in an effort to embrace my geekness, here are a few random things you should know about me . . . feel free to chime in with a few of your own in the comments.

I like to be alone. Seven hour road trip + no one else in the car = bliss.

I have a great memory for faces and a lousy memory for names. This means if you run into me and we haven’t seen each other in a while, there’s a high probability that I’ve forgotten your name. Please allow me to apologize in advance.

I have been known to watch the same movie, listen to the same CD and read the same book over and over and over again. It can take me quite a while to move on. This is particularly troublesome when the book has been turned into a movie and has a fabulous soundtrack and score.

I love movies. Action, romance, comedy, animation. I’m all for it. But I’m finicky about suspense films and flat-out refuse to watch horror movies. I succumbed to peer pressure and went to one in college and jumped every time my sister walked around the corner of our little apartment for the next six months. It’s just not worth the misery.

Another thing I’m a bit, um, picky about. . . if the sign says “Enter” then it means “Enter” not “Exit if no one is coming.” This seems fairly self-explanatory. Why do people struggle with this concept?

And please, oh please do not ask me to attend a party for which I failed to RSVP. I was supposed to RSVP. I didn’t. Therefore I can’t go. What’s so hard to understand about this concept?

(This just happened a few days ago. My husband insisted we attend. I survived.)

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A few weeks ago, I woke up in a bad mood.

While on vacation. With the entire family.

I needed an attitude adjustment.

Fast.

So I took my grouchy self to the balcony of our condo and sat there with my Bible in my lap and stared out at the ocean.

I have a thing for the ocean.

I like to look at it. To listen to it. To walk beside it. To play in it.

I find it fascinating, relaxing, exhilarating and humbling.

After a few minutes of breathing in salty air and intentionally choosing to quiet myself, I started to talk to God.

Here’s the gist of our talk:

Me: How could anyone look at this and think You don’t exist?
Me: It’s so huge.
Me: I wonder what is exactly across the ocean from where I sit now?
Me: I do love the ocean, Father. Please tell me we’ll have oceans in heaven.

A bit of a pause.

(Note: I am not making this up and yes, this really is how I talk to God.)

Me: Well, maybe not in heaven, but how about on the new earth?
Me: Yeah, I bet there will be. The earth is what, 70% ocean or something? I think you must have a thing for oceans, too. I bet they’re your favorite.

God, with a chuckle: You are my favorite.

Me: (Totally speechless for about two minutes).

Now, first of all, if you don’t think God chuckles, let me just assure you.

He does.

Second, I would like to remind you that at this point, I had not opened my Bible. I had not asked God to forgive me for waking up grouchy.

All I had done was approach the throne.

With a bad attitude.

And what does He have to say to me?

You are my favorite.

Huh?

I’m sorry God. You must have me confused with someone else. Someone who wakes up singing worship songs. Someone who never loses her temper. Someone much better than me.

You are my favorite.

I sat there for another few minutes pondering the idea of being God’s favorite. Of all the things He created, it was mankind He chose to make in His image. It was mankind into whom He chose to breathe the breath of life. It was mankind He created for relationship with Him.

Wow.

God’s favorite.

Me.

I did get around to asking God to forgive me for my foul temper, but by then it was long gone.

How could I be in a bad mood when God just told me He likes me better than the ocean, bad attitude and all?

I don’t know what kind of a day you’re having or how long it’s been since you sat still long enough for God to whisper in your ear that He thinks you’re awesome.

Please don’t let your bad attitude stop you.

Run to Him. Take Him all your junk.

Never, ever be afraid to approach your Abba.

After all, you are His favorite, too!

***Please know that I am not claiming any of this as an original idea of mine. Like I said previously, our pastors spent weeks fleshing out the concept of Living into God’s Story and if this idea intrigues you, I would encourage you to listen to the sermons. My blog posts are simply my way of sharing what God branded into my spirit as our pastors opened the Word. ***

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So, to recap . . .

Previously, on Out of the Boat (this line is best if you use Mark Harmon’s NCIS voice) :-).

My knowledge of storytelling has given me a new appreciation for God’s story. And for my part in it.

One rule of writing is to have only as many characters as you need. If your protagonist has five best friends, they probably need to be combined into one or two. If your evil empire is enormous, you only need to flesh out the character of a few key individuals and allow the others to remain part of the anonymous crowd.
So, if God is the Ultimate Storyteller and we are the characters in His story, then . . .

We must have a purpose.

And, here it comes . . . wait for it . . .

That purpose is not all about me (or you – sorry to burst your bubble).

God always has more than you or me in mind.

He loves us, but He is always working in our lives in order to preserve many lives. The lives of our family members, our community, and maybe people we will never meet.

Joseph is a perfect example of this. When Joseph was in the pit, God knew what was coming. God knew that Joseph’s suffering, while it would bring about a great deal of personal growth, was ultimately about saving the entire family. The very family through which Christ would come, which would ultimately save the world.

The World.

Now admittedly, Joseph was a Major character and there can only be so many Major characters. So far, the books I’ve written (OK — the one I’ve written and the one I’m working on) have two major characters. Everyone else is a minor character. Note that I said minor, not unnecessary. There’s a BIG difference.

There’s only one Billy Graham. Only one Beth Moore. Only one Me. Only one You.

My role in God’s story probably won’t be to reach the world. It may be to reach my neighbor. Or my child. Or my friend.

But my role is important (and so is yours).

In my current plotline, I’m a 36-year old wife and mother of two. I have everything I need and most of what I want. But there’s been an unexpected development. As I write these words, I have no idea where He’s going with this, because like all good storytellers, He only gives me enough information for me to know what’s happening now, with maybe a few hints as to what’s coming. But He doesn’t give away the whole story. What would be the fun in that?

He’s laid it on my heart to write. At first it was fiction. It still is, but the storyline has developed and now I have this blog and some devotions.

But what’s the point?

Sometimes I start to wonder why me? Why now? Or, I wonder if I’ve lost my mind.

And here’s where the idea of Living into God’s Story has completely changed the way I think about this topic.

A year ago, if you’d said, “Lynn, what do you think God is up to with this whole writing thing?” my response would probably have included the following:

  • God is teaching me about following Him when it doesn’t make sense.
  • God is teaching me to trust Him and His timing.
  • God is showing me new dimensions of Himself and I am growing to love and appreciate Him more each day.

Now, you may be wondering what’s wrong with those statements.

Especially since they are all true.

But they totally miss the point!

Sure, God is teaching me. All the time. And I’m sure my personal sanctification is a part of the plan. But if I start thinking that it’s all about me, what I will learn, how I will grow, I will miss something huge.

Because God is too good a storyteller to weave a plotline that only impacts one minor character. Oh no. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve gotten the erroneous idea that everything that happens to me is about me. When in reality, everything that happens to me is about others. God has a plan to use me to reach others.

This, I must say, is a humbling and exciting idea.

I still don’t know why I’m writing this blog or editing a novel.

But maybe He’s called me to write because in His story, I have a story to tell and no one else can tell it quite the way I will and somewhere, someone needs to hear it.

And that’s a story that will keep me turning the pages, just to see what happens next.

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Knowledge is a funny thing.
For example, when we head out to the local ballpark and grab a hotdog and a coke, we don’t really want to know how that hotdog was made. We know that some people who do know have chosen never to eat these things again. But as long as we don’t “know” we can go about our life, enjoying our hotdogs, and try not to think about it too much.
Of course, sometimes, knowledge increases our awareness of our surroundings. After I learned to knit, I found that when I look at a sweater I can tell if it was knit or woven, and if it has stockinette or seed or garter stitching. Not that this is going to bring about world peace or anything. It’s just a new thing I’m cognizant of.

Same with public swimming pools. My first job out of college was with the Dept. of Health and Environmental Control as an Environmental Engineer. Our section regulated water treatment plants and public swimming pools. (Please do not ask me why those two went together.) Because of what I know about the regulations, I notice if the depth markers are non-slip, and how many drains are in the bottom of the pool. Again, it’s just random knowledge, but it adds to the way I experience the world. (It’s also why I prefer that my children not play in kiddie pools and why I’m not a huge fan of hot tubs, but I digress).

In our interactions with others, knowledge can add dimension and layers to a relationship. When you find out about someone’s past, it gives you insights into their present. When you learn what their love language is, it helps you understand why they do or say or react in certain ways.

As I mentioned in my last post, learning about writing has had an impact on how I view books. It hasn’t lessened my love for them. If anything, I look at them with a whole new sense of wonder.

And, it has given me a whole new appreciation for the concept of storytelling.

I’m not sure when I heard it first, and I’m not sure if it would have impacted me so strongly if I wasn’t in the middle of my own self-discovery as a storyteller, but it seems like everywhere I turn, someone is talking about God as a Storyteller. This in no way implies that His Word is not true. Far from it.

It simply acknowledges that God, as our Creator, knew that the best way to tell us about Himself was to tell us a story.

Pause right there.

Think about that.

Go ahead and get chills (if you’re a writer, this should make you giddy).

Because God is the ultimate storyteller.

(OK – this should come as no surprise since God is the Ultimate Everything, but I’d never thought of Him – God – as one who tells stories, or as a writer. Which seems silly given that there about 30 Bibles in my house. Another “duh” moment for Lynn.)

I recently completed Beth Moore’s study on Esther (which I highly recommend). And one thing she mentioned over and over was how God laid out the story. She talked about chiastic structure and plotlines. Even about how God told us what we need to know and left out the parts that, while they might have been interesting to us (what did happen to Vashti?), weren’t necessary for the story.

While I was studying Esther, our pastors were doing a Sunday morning series entitled “Living Into God’s Story”. We covered the last several chapters of Genesis – Joseph’s story. Talk about a story! You’ve got prophetic dreams, family dysfunction, murder plots, slavery, rags to riches to rags to riches, deceitful women, prison, more dreams, forgetful butlers, doomed cooks, more family dysfunction, forgiveness and hope and grace. This story has everything!

But God didn’t tell us this particular story for our amusement.

He told us this story so we could know more about Him.

Just as my knowledge of being a parent has increased my understanding of how God relates to His children, my knowledge of storytelling has given me a whole new appreciation for God’s story. And for my part in it.

More about what Living Into God’s Story looks like for me, next time on Out of the Boat!

(This line reads better if you use your best TV soap opera voice – you know, “Next time, on Why Would Anyone Watch This, will what’s her name survive the electric chair? Will the handsome star find his way off Mt. Everest? Will the cute teenage boy get rid of his acne before the prom?”)

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