Let There Be Light

It was my last chance to change my mind. I didn’t have to do this; no one was making me.

Even the dark, gray sky seemed anxious. Clouds hung low and the air was cold and drizzly.

The part of me that craves safety and comfort told me to take the easier route and avoid this all together. But the part of me with the adventurous streak that loves once-in-a-lifetime experiences fought back a little stronger.

So I zipped my rain jacket. Rolled my jeans as far up over my knees as I could. Pulled my flashlight out of my pocket. Took a deep breath.

And stepped down beneath the city.

Down, down, down. Farther and farther away from fresh air and light and the chance to turn around. As we descended farther beneath the Middle Eastern city, the air grew more damp and musty. The thick rock walls surrounding us grew colder to the touch. Eventually, we reached water.

And then darkness. Complete darkness.

As I stepped into the water, I clicked on my flashlight. Without it, I couldn’t even have seen my own hand in front of my face, much less the person in front of me or the water that swished around my legs.

I’m not naturally claustrophobic, but something about being so far beneath the ground of a foreign country—surrounded by rock with no way to turn back, no way to escape, no way to get help if needed—got to me.

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving became the mantra I chanted to myself as my group trudged single-file through the tunnel. In some places, the water only reached mid-calf, while in others, it swelled above my knees. Sometimes the tunnel widened, while at other times, it became so narrow I had to turn sideways.

I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t. A few times, panic started to rise in my throat, and I prayed for help. To distract myself, I thought about all of the history contained within that tunnel—history I’d grown up reading about in the Bible. In 8^thcentury B.C., King Hezekiah ordered the construction of the tunnel as a way to protect the city’s water source from siege:

^“When Hezekiah saw that Sennacherib had come and that he intended to wage war against Jerusalem,  he consulted with his officials and military staff about blocking off the water from the springs outside the city, and they helped him.^”– 2 Chronicles 32:2-3

I kept my flashlight trained on the water so that I could follow the footsteps of the person in front of me, thinking about how, nearly three thousand years ago, two teams started at opposite ends of the wall and carved out the tunnel until they met in the middle. I marveled at how this crew could accomplish such a feat without the help of modern tools, communication devices, or light sources.

We trudged along for 1,750 feet. Cold and wet. Surrounded by darkness. As fascinating as it all was, I longed for dry cloths, fresh air, and most of all, daylight.

Eventually, we reached the mouth of the tunnel. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I stepped out of the darkness and into the ancient City of David.

Not all that far from where I stood, a carpenter searched for a place to stay and found a stable. A girl delivered a baby on a bed of hay, wrapped him in strips of cloth, and laid him in a feeding trough.

Then angels appeared to frightened shepherds, announcing the location of this unbelievable event:

“Today in the City of David a Savior has been born to you…” (Luke 2:11).

The City of David. The place prophets had talked about. The place where God Himself entered history on a rescue mission.

The place where light broke through the darkness.

“The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.” – Isaiah 9:2

When I stepped out of Hezekiah’s tunnel, I found myself at the remains of the Pool of Siloam, the place where the Light of the World rescued a man held captive by darkness.

“As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’

 ^‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.’

After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing. ” – John 9:1-7.

Color and dimension and hope overwhelmed the senses of a man who only knew darkness. A beggar received a priceless treasure.

And two thousand years later, a girl wearing water shoes and clutching a flashlight stood in the place where Light flooded the earth. Over 6,000 miles from where she lived, and yet somehow home.

Maybe you feel like you’re trudging through a dark tunnel with no end in sight. Maybe you feel surrounded or trapped. Maybe you’re hurting or scared or just wondering when the darkness will end. If that’s you, look to the One darkness cannot overcome.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5

This Christmas, look to the One whose birth changed the course of history. Look to the One who gave sight to the blind and opened our eyes to experience His love. Look to the One who is with you in darkest tunnel.

Look to the Light of the World.

“And God said, ‘Let there be light. And there was light.” – Genesis 1:3

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Even Me

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she dreamed about as a little girl. She was supposed to get married and quickly start a family.

It’s how it happened for her sisters. For her friends.

She had a husband—a good, strong, faithful man—but her dream of having a baby hadn’t come true.

By now, she could’ve wished upon a thousand stars. Could’ve dreamed a new dream. Could’ve walked away from the God who was supposed to hear her prayers.

But she stayed. Kept hoping. Kept waiting.

Until it was too late.

All of her siblings and neighbors had children and grandchildren. Their homes were filled to the brim with laughter, their voices spilling across the street to her quiet house.

But her home—and her womb—remained empty.

Months of disappointment turned into years. Years turned into decades. At some point along the way, Elizabeth stopped counting. It hurt too much.

Everyone in town knew, too. When she walked through the market, she could see the other women’s mouths droop in sympathy. She watched them exchange glances with one another, their eyes seeming to say, “Oh, Elizabeth. That poor, barren woman. She couldn’t give her husband a child.”

She never stopped hoping, never stopped praying for God to answer her prayers. But God didn’t answer. Actually, God hadn’t answered anyone in a long time. Four hundred years had passed since He had last given words to His messengers.

Elizabeth and her husband were old now. Even if there wasn’t something wrong with her, she was well past the timeframe where she could become a mother.

One afternoon, she stood in a crowd of people outside of the temple, praying and waiting for her husband. Zechariah was a priest, and he had been chosen to go into the temple and burn incense. It was a sacred, serious honor. A role not to be taken lightly. Elizabeth was eager to hear about it. She looked in the direction of the temple’s entrance, shading her eyes with a wrinkled hand. What was taking him so long? The crowd was growing restless.

Suddenly, the crowd gasped and Elizabeth craned her neck to see what was happening.

“Zechariah! What is it? What did you see?” a man in the crowd called out.

Elizabeth pushed her way through the mass of people until she reached her husband. When she spoke his name, he turned to face her. Though his eyes were on hers, it was like he wasn’t even seeing her. Like he was mesmerized by something invisible.

Elizabeth reached for his arm, took it in her hands. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes searched his pale, bearded face.

He opened his mouth to reply, then brought a hand to his throat. His eyes widened, taking on a manic sheen. He opened his mouth again, but no words emerged. Instead, he began wildly gesturing behind him, to the entrance where the altar of incense was kept.

“A vision!” Another priest spoke up. “He’s seen a vision in the temple!”

Elizabeth gulped. A vision? Of what? She clutched her husband’s arm tighter to steady herself. Had God actually spoken after all this time? What was going to happen?

Through gestures and writing, Zechariah explained some of what had happened that day at the temple. An angel appeared to him, telling him God had heard their prayers for a child. They would have a little boy, and they were supposed to name him John. He would grow up to tell people to get ready because the Rescuer was coming. Many people would get to know God because of him.

Zechariah hadn’t believed the angel. After all, he and Elizabeth were old and had never been able to have a baby. Because of Zechariah’s doubt, the angel took his ability to speak but promised it would come back once everything God had promised happened.

It was such a wild story. Elizabeth didn’t blame Zechariah for questioning the plan. And to think, God had broken the centuries-long silence with a message about Elizabeth, an old, barren woman? It was incredible!

Six months had passed since that day at the temple. Half a year of living with a mute husband. Twenty-six weeks of watching a miracle unfold.

It started with headaches and nausea, followed by back pains. And then, gradually, incredibly, miraculously, her abdomen began to grow.

Elizabeth the barren was having a baby!

Now, Elizabeth stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the small of her aching back, her eyes intently watching the street for signs of her cousin. They had so much to catch up on during their visit.

A young woman rounded the corner, and Elizabeth stepped outside. She raised her hand to catch the girl’s attention.

The girl’s face split into a grin as she began to run. “Elizabeth!” she called.

Suddenly, something flipped within Elizabeth, like her stomach had somersaulted into her rib cage. She stumbled and reached out to steady herself against the doorframe. Laughter bubbled from her mouth as Mary threw herself into Elizabeth’s arms.

“How blessed you are, Mary!” Elizabeth cried, holding her cousin as closely against her as she could. “And how blessed is this baby you’re carrying!” She took the girl by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. Tears ran down Elizabeth’s weathered face as she said, “Who am I to have the honor of a visit from the mother of my Savior? When I heard you call my name, the baby in my womb jumped for joy! You’re so blessed because you believed God would do everything He said!”

She took Mary’s hand and pressed it against her stomach, where the baby still kicked in excitement. Mary reached for Elizabeth’s hand and pressed it against her own abdomen, still flat beneath her clothes.

“This is really happening!” Mary said, her voice shaking. “We’re having babies!”

It was true, even though Elizabeth was too old to have a baby and was supposedly barren. And then sweet Mary—not only was she too young to be a mother, but she was a virgin.

And yet, life swelled within them. Two miracles in the making.

Three months later, Elizabeth delivered a son. She choked on a sob as the baby was placed on her chest.

The baby drew in a shaky first breath, filling brand-new lungs with air. He opened his mouth and cried out into the night.

As he cried, the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah rang in Elizabeth’s ears: “Listen! It’s the voice of someone crying in the wilderness: ‘Get ready for our God! Make a path through the desert for Him!’”

Beside her, Mary looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She slowly reached out, ran one trembling hand over the baby’s hair and rested the other against her own abdomen.

Elizabeth smiled at Mary—the girl who would give birth to the promised Rescuer in just a few months. He was the One her own son had been announcing since before he was even born.

Eight days later, Elizabeth and Zechariah made their way back to the temple where it all started. But this time, Elizabeth cradled a swaddled newborn baby against her chest. The whole town—all of Elizabeth’s relatives and neighbors—celebrated with them as they approached the place where they would dedicate the baby to God.

“You’re naming him Zechariah, right?” one of the neighbors asked. They weren’t wrong to assume that’s what they would name the baby. Under normal circumstances, they would name a firstborn son after his father. But these circumstances were the opposite of normal.

Elizabeth looked down at the baby, his eyes closed, his breaths deep, his small fist nestled against his face.

“No, he will be called John.” She smiled up at the people around her. Immediately, they turned to Zechariah, who stood at her side.

“Write down his name,” they told him. “The name you want him to be called.”

Someone handed Zechariah a tablet, and he wrote in clear, bold letters: His name is John.

 Then he coughed. Coughed again. And with the voice of a man awakening from deep sleep, quiet at first then increasing in volume, he said: “Praise God! He has come to His people and is bringing us a Rescuer, just like he promised through the prophets long ago. This baby belongs to Him. John will get everyone ready for the One who will forgive their sins and give them a brand-new life!”

He looked over at Elizabeth and smiled, his eyes shining with amazement and tears of joy just waiting for their chance to escape.

Elizabeth hugged the baby closer to her. John, whose name meant God is gracious, was proof that God heard the longing of her heart. God did not forget Elizabeth, and God did not forget His people. In the waiting, God was working. His rescue mission was unfolding.

“Thank you, Father God,” Elizabeth whispered. “I’m not worthy to be a part of this story, but still you chose me. You truly do love your people. Even me.”

Dear friends,

If this Christmas find you you in a season of waiting, longing, or grieving, I pray you’ll find hope in Elizabeth’s story. I used my imagination to retell it, but you can read the real account in Luke 1.

The Bible tells us that God came to earth for the barren, the lonely, the broken, the outcast. For me. For you. He shows His goodness in the most unexpected ways. He is the joy of every longing heart.

One day, He will come back and make everything brand-new. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more wondering.

But in the meantime, remember that He has never, ever broken one of His promises. Even when He seems silent, He is still working. He sent a Rescuer for you because He loves you. And He isn’t finished with your story.

In His love,
Anna

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bouquet Tosses & the God Who Sees Me

“Here we go,” I muttered to myself as I clutched the long skirt of my plum dress in my manicured hand. I walked toward one of my best friends in all the world. She was a stunning bride – her hair curled, her eyes shining, her joy contagious. It was truly an honor to stand by her side as a bridesmaid.

She held a pale purple bouquet over her head and posed for a mini photo shoot with the photographer, while those of us who had never had a wedding of our own – the maid of honor, the flower girl, a few other female guests, and me – gathered behind her.

Earlier, I’d offered her money if she would just turn around and hand me the bouquet. Figured it could go into the honeymoon fund. She’d just laughed.

Though I’ve jokingly offered bribes to brides over the years, I’ve never actually caught the bouquet. It doesn’t matter that I’m tall or that I can have laser-focus when needed. It’s just never happened for me. It’s part of wedding reception tradition: the girl who catches the bouquet is said to be the next one to get married.

Of course, that’s not how life works. God doesn’t glance up from disc-jockeying some tectonic plates or something and say, “Oh, she’s next. Alexa, remind me to start working on that.”

It’s all in good fun. But at the same time, in some small way, it matters to me.

[This is the part where we pull some folding chairs into the vulnerability circle and get real]

I have my share of date stories. I’ve been taken out for a nice dinner, given gifts, and treated with admiration, but none of those kind, generous guys have been The One. And that’s fine with me. I don’t regret any of it.

Yet weddings do a really good job of pointing out what I don’t have. That unfulfilled dream, that hope deferred, that birthday candle wish. That middle-of-the-night whispered prayer.

That little bouquet seems to mock me every time: “You’re all alone. No guy loves you. You’ll never know this kind of happiness.”

In those moments (usually with Beyoncé singing for all the single ladies to put their hands up) when I’m surrounded by little girls who believe in Prince Charming and happily-ever-after, and when I’m standing next to girls with boyfriends waiting back at the table, I’m most susceptible to those lies.

And my heart always hums this prayer: Do you see me down here, God?

Every time the bouquet sails in a direction that is not in the direction of where I stand with a smile plastered on my face like a piece of duct tape hiding my real feelings, I feel my heart sink toward my stomach.

Then the catcher of that clump of flowers – the lucky winner – poses with the bride. She most likely imagines the coming day when she’ll be the one tossing the flowers over her shoulder to all the single ladies who put their hands up.

In case this realness makes me sound like a cynic, please know I’m not. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. I love weddings and all the special details surrounding them. I get teary-eyed watching the groom watch his bride walk toward him down the aisle.

I love sweetness and tenderness, the white dress and unity candle, the dream come true and the start of forever.

It’s just that pesky bouquet toss.

But back to my friend’s wedding…

There I stood with the other single girls, waiting on the bouquet. Not bribing the bride, but just letting things happen.

The photographer snapped that picture. The bouquet sailed through the air. I reached out, and…

Dear reader, I caught the bouquet.

It landed in my hands, the bride turned around, and we threw ourselves at each other in a hold-on-tight hug.

We laughed and grinned and the photographer snapped pictures of the hoopla. The bride glanced over at me and said one of those best friend things  that only the two of us would understand, and it made tears spring into my eyes. There was the picture with the guy who caught the garter and then I carried that bouquet back to the wedding party table where a taco was waiting for me.

I know catching that bouquet doesn’t mean I’ll get married next. But as I drove home that night with my makeup melting off my face and my hair rebelling against the bobby pins, I whispered, “Thank you, God, for seeing me.”

It was just a wedding tradition. Just a little detail. But I’m a big believer that God does everything with intention, and that He wants to show us how much He loves us in those little details He designs.

So when I caught the bouquet, I heard God speak. It was more of a deep-down knowing, but I heard Him as clearly as if He’d stood in front of me and said, “I love you, kid.”

I heard Him whisper to my heart, “You’re mine. I haven’t forgotten about you. I care about your dreams, and I see you.”

That last part is actually one of God’s names in the Bible: The God Who Sees Me. Or, El Roi in Hebrew.

This name is spoken by a lonely woman named Hagar, who we read about in Genesis 16. God had promised a man named Abram and his wife Sarai a son, but as they got older, they got impatient. Sarai told Abram to sleep with Hagar, Sarai’s maid, and have a son that way. Hagar got pregnant, and bad blood brewed between the two women. Sarai treated Hagar so badly that she ran away and camped out in the wilderness by a spring.

She was pregnant and alone, with no way to support herself or her unborn child. She had nowhere to go.

But then the angel of the Lord showed up right in front of her, told her to go fix things with Sarai, and gave her some promises about the baby she carried.

Hagar called out to God and said: “You are the God who sees me. I have now seen the One who sees me.”

She called God El Roi. The God Who Sees Me.

In the middle of her loneliness, God let her know He hadn’t forgotten her. What a tender, sacred moment when God spoke through the details of her life.

My situation at the wedding was very different from Hagar’s, but like Hagar, I saw God  at work in the details of my situation. How unbelievably kind of Him to remind me He’s near and that He cares for me.

When I got home, I placed the bouquet in a cup on my desk. Not as a reminder to make a Pinterest wedding board since my prince is on his way, but as a reminder that God cares about even the smallest details of my life.

Because He is El Roi. He is the God Who Sees Me.

And He sees you, too.

 

 

 

 

 

What’s Your Cover Copy?

I’m writing the back cover copy for my newest book. Basically, that’s the little description you find on a book when you flip it over. It’s like a mini synopsis of the story, but it doesn’t give away all of the details…it gives readers just enough information to make them want them to read the whole thing.

It’s tricky because you have a little bit of space to work with. You have to decide which plot points and characters need to be mentioned, and which ones need to stay hidden. You have to show the voice/personality of the story, while also keeping it polished.

Here’s the back cover copy of All of This: 

Sadie Franklin is all about independence, but when one of her popular parties gets too crazy, her usually uninvolved dad sends her across the country to spend the summer with relatives.

Living in small-town Pecan Creek, Georgia, is culture shock for a girl from Seattle, and it doesn’t help that Sadie’s aunt and uncle are total church people. Sunday school? No, thanks.

Add a houseful of little cousins, an accidental friendship with the preacher’s daughter of all people, and the attention of a guy who might actually understand her murky past, and it’s enough to cue an identity crisis.

When life-altering news rocks Sadie’s world and reveals messy family secrets, she’s forced to face the God she’s avoided since her mom’s death eight years ago. Sadie is surrounded by people who say God loves her and has great plans for her life, but if God is really good, why does He let Sadie’s life unravel? Could there really be a purpose in all of this?

See how Sadie is the only character who’s actually named? There are several other people in the book, but it’s her show. Also, see how some things are mentioned but not completely explained? Like, who is the “guy who might actually understand her murky past?” If you’ve read the book, you’ll know. But if you dive into it for the first time, that’s something you figure out as you go.

The back cover copy also shows the theme of the book. Look at that question at the end of the last paragraph: “Could there really be a purpose in all of this?”

And finally, the back cover copy lets you know the character’s journey isn’t going to be easy. There will be conflict in the pages – with uncontrollable circumstances, with other people, and within the main character herself.

So that’s what I’m working on with this next book. No, it’s not getting shopped around for publication yet, but making the back cover copy is part of the process. Sadie will be the focus again, but I have to decide what parts of the story to share with people. I have to ask myself: What other characters do I mention? Which plot points do I include? How do I incorporate the theme?

To sum it up, the back cover copy is a quick glance at a much deeper story.

Fun fact: This post isn’t actually about writing. As I was thinking through the back cover copy for my project, it made me wonder: how would I honestly sum up my own life? If I were to write a back cover copy for The Life of Anna Schaeffer (still working on a title for my pretend memoir), what would I include? Who would I include? Which details of my life story would I mention? What gets to the heart of who I really am?

Naturally, I’d put my faith on there. But if I were being honest about the conflict in my life, how would that look on the copy? Would it say I don’t always pray like I should? Would it say I love Jesus, but sometimes I struggle to step out of my comfort zone?

What about my relationships with others? Would it say I’m a loyal friend, a daughter who honors her parents, a good sister?

What would be the theme of my story? The thread woven throughout the pages of my journey?

It’s a lot to think through, I know. But I think it’s good for us to evaluate our life like that – to take an honest look at what others see when they interact with us.

I pray the back cover copy of my life story points to Jesus. I pray it reads that no, I don’t have it all together, but Jesus holds me together. My hope is that others see grace as that theme woven throughout my story. And I pray that snapshot of my life and His grace makes others want to learn more about the theme.

What about you? What would be in the back cover copy of your life?

Remember This

As I write to you, I’m sitting criss-cross applesauce (is there another word for this for people who aren’t five anymore? I’m not sure) in the middle of my bed. I’m eating leftover squash straight out of a glass serving bowl wrapped in a dish rag (because glass gets hot when you microwave it, man). And it’s 10:30pm. If I can keep my eyes open long enough to head back to the kitchen, the second course might be chips and salsa.

Usually when you read one of my blog posts, it’s written in advance. Sometimes I schedule them out a couple of weeks ahead of time, or I at least write them then let them sit for a day or two.

But this one’s getting scheduled as soon as I finish typing, and it’ll go live at the usual 6:00am, which means you’ll probably read it before I see it again.

From that first paragraph about my fancy dining habits, you might be able to tell I’ve been a little frazzled recently. Not in a bad way, though.  Most of the things I have going on are good: Work, Bible study, time with friends, editing.

So. much. editing, you guys. This book draft and I need some healthier boundaries.

But as I sit here and think through how tomorrow’s schedule is just as full, I also think about this:

Sometimes we get so caught up in life that we forget some incredible truths.

Maybe you’re having a lot of fun being a person these days, your friends are amazing, your family’s getting along, and you have the best tan of your life (I imagine that would be fun), but at the end of the day, you need a reminder.

Or maybe life has knocked you down lately. Maybe you messed up again, you let someone down, you feel like you’re dog-paddling while you try to figure out what in the world you’re supposed to do in this world. And at the end of the day, you need a reminder.

Maybe praying is hard, or God didn’t do something you thought he would. Maybe your closest friend betrayed your trust or you’re feeling a little lonely at the end of the day. You need a reminder, too.

No matter how you’ll feel when you crawl into bed tonight with your journal or Netflix or leftover squash, the reminder is the same.

But just because it’s the same, that doesn’t mean it’s any less powerful or true. In fact, I think that makes it more significant:

You are seen. You are seen by the One who loves you. Everything you do, everything you feel, everything you are is not hidden from God.

You are heard by the God who gave you a mouth to speak and a mind to think. Every sigh, every question, every thought is heard by your Father in heaven.

You are known. From the number of hairs on your head to the freckles across your nose. From the circumstances that make you cry yourself to sleep to the tv shows that make you laugh uncontrollably.

To sum it all up?

You are loved. 

You are loved by the One who made your beating heart and your amazing brain. You are loved by the God who picked out your personality and where you live and what you’re passionate about.

So remember this when you click off your lamp tonight. Remind yourself of it when you open your eyes tomorrow morning. Tell it to a friend who could really use some good news, because it’s every bit as true for her, too.

And if you have some doubts about it all, reach out to me. I’d love to listen to your thoughts and share with you how I know this is all for real.

I’m reminding myself of this as I schedule this post and brush my teeth: I am seen, heard,  known, and loved.

And so are you.

“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
– Romans 8:38-39

Open Hands

Three years ago, I published All of This, a young adult novel. Before the book even came out – pretty much the day after I finished revising the story – I wrote a sequel. That was three years ago.

For three years, I’ve known what happens after that final sentence in All of This. For three years, I’ve had the answers to the biggest questions readers are left wondering about.

Three years ago, I began writing a story that challenged me more as a writer than any other manuscript I’d written. I delved deeper into the mind of my main character and wrote some storylines that freaked me out a little because I wondered if I’d be able to pull them off.

I’ve loved that new project for three years, and I had plans to have it in the hands of readers long before now.

But then I felt God nudging me to grad school, and I moved away from home for the first time.

I stepped onto campus as a full-time Masters student and quickly learned that’s a whole other level than earning a bachelor’s degree. I found a local church, began to serve there, and joined a small group. I picked up a couple part time jobs. I grew friendships. I wrote guests posts for my school’s women’s blog, I spoke about writing in a few classes, I traveled, and I did everyday life stuff like cooking and cleaning and learning to keep plants alive (still working on that last one).

But I never forgot about that writing project.

For a while, I tried to work on it here and there. After all, the story was told – it just needed some work to make it look like an actual book. But homework kept me up late into the night and classes got me up early each morning.

I was so frustrated. When I’m not writing, I don’t fully feel like myself. I really thought I was supposed to tell that story, and I prayed about it. But I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t make it happen.

Then a little while ago, I realized something: Maybe God was asking me to trust Him with my dreams. Maybe He wanted my full attention on studying ministry during my time in seminary. Maybe He wanted to grow me in other areas, allow me to live new experiences, teach me my identity isn’t found in my author title.

When I realized that, I did something difficult: I stepped away.

I still thought about the story I loved so much. Still jotted some notes down here and there. But I didn’t consistently spend time with the manuscript. And while that bothered me a lot, it also felt like relief.

See, I had to learn to live with open hands. I had to put the story – and my heart for writing – in my outstretched palms and hold it out to God. I had to say, “Even if I never get to share this story with readers. Even if my life takes me in a different direction. You know my heart and you designed me with this passion on purpose. So  I trust you.”

Even if…I trust You.

And that’s how I’m slowly learning to live. Not just with storytelling, but with all things.

I like to feel a sense of control. A lot. But there’s freedom in knowing it’s not up to you to hold it all together. And if your faith is in Christ, you have solid hope that He knows what He’s doing and He has His glory and your ultimate good in mind.

I had to learn to be okay with answering people’s questions with, “I honestly don’t know when the story will be finished. I’m focusing on school right now.”

Which felt weird to say because I wrote two manuscripts while I was a full-time college student – one of which became All of This. Letting go of the story also went against the writing advice we hear all the time: “Just keep writing. Write something every day. If if matters to you, you’ll make time for it.”

All of that can be really great advice. But when you’ve given your life to living God’s plan for you, the best advice is to trust. To give your dreams and plans and projects to Him and trust Him to use them however He wants.

Now that I’ve said all of that…I’ve graduated. I have my diploma in my apartment. I’m not spending my evenings with my nose in a commentary. I’m going to bed at a reasonable time (who even am I??).

And I’m writing again.

I’ve dusted off that sequel, and I’m diving into it as often as I can. I’ve learned some things over the past few years that I’m able to pour into the story to make it stronger. I have a renewed sense of purpose for it, more energy to rearrange scenes and fill in plot holes, and even more of a desire to get the story into the hands of readers.

I don’t know what’s next for this project. I don’t have any ideas about when it’ll be completely done or how it’ll be published or when you’ll read it.

But honestly? That doesn’t scare me as much now. Because I’ve recently been reminded of why I do what I do in the first place: To point to King Jesus in all things.

It’s all by His grace and for His glory.

Question: Have you ever set something aside for a season, even though you loved it? What did you learn from the experience?

The first printed copy of my latest manuscript – ready for some serious editing!

The Journey

Friends! Hello! How are you? It’s been a thousand years four months since we’ve hung out together on the blog.

Things have been a little wild in my corner of the world recently – mainly because I haven’t spent much time in my corner of the world. But also because something small happened a few Fridays ago:

I graduated from seminary with a Masters Degree in Ministry to Women.

 

Photo credit: Alexa Mahan

Of course I’m joking when I say that was a small thing because it’s really huge. Not because of anything I did, but because of who God is. Because of His faithfulness and His plan. Because of His presence over the past three years of reading and research and exams and some very difficult days.

In April, I made a video walking through the past few years of seminary (a school that helps equip you to share the Good News of Jesus wherever God takes you). In it, I read excerpts from my journal. If you’ve been a blog reader for a while, you’ll know that’s a huge deal. Schaeffer doesn’t share her journal.

But I did because I wanted to encourage you to trust in the Lord with all of your heart. And I wanted to encourage myself to keep doing that, too.

When I made this video, I had no idea what was next for me. Graduation was a month away and I didn’t have a job lined up. I was set to move out of my tiny room with the cute little nook in the apartment I shared with two wonderful friends, but I didn’t know where I was going.

This video doesn’t tell you what happened next. But I’m glad I recorded this before I knew my next step because it’s honest. It’s my heart.

And I cry throughout it, so ignore that.

And while I’ll fill you in later on the details of the events only God could orchestrate, I’ll go ahead and tell you this: 30 minutes after I crossed the stage and received my degree, while I was still wearing the master’s robe with the funny sleeves (perfect for snack storage – keep that in mind), while I was standing outside of the chapel taking pictures with friends, family, and professors…I was offered a job. And now I’m living in the “what’s next” I was wondering about just a few weeks before.

In case you missed the video on Facebook, I’ll share it below.

Tell me: Are you in a season of waiting or wondering what’s next? Are you asking God for answers, but only seem to be getting static?

He’s listening, friends. Believe me, He’s listening. And He’s working behind the scenes even now.