It’s called a masterly crafted book proposal. It’s not rocket science, but it is a skill you’ll need to learn to go to the next level in your publishing career. Where can you get such skill? Glad you asked! I’ve created a well-researched, practical tool—a book proposal tutorial—that will teach you, step-by-step, how to develop that skill.

Using my own proposal-writing method, I have sold more than a dozen books to major publishing houses. And through this tutorial I have helped many new authors get published. Today I’m so busy writing and speaking that I’ve stepped down from mentoring writer. Offering this tool is my way to help you get published.

I’m thrilled to present this nonfiction proposal tutorial! Why? Because it will empower you to write the kind of proposal that grabs an agent or editor by the throat and won’t let go.

For $25.00, here’s what you get in the tutorial:

1. How to write a query letter, complete with proper format and examples.
2. Step by step teaching through each section of your proposal (Market Analysis, Comparative Analysis, Marketing, Alternate Titles, Etc.)
3. Real-life proposal examples.
4. A template in Microsoft Word that you can copy and paste into your own document. All you do is answer the questions and a proposal is born!
5. Over 100 pages of instruction.

But don’t just take my word for it. Hear what industry professionals have to say:

“Mary knows how to write a proposal that gets an editor’s attention: well-organized, persuasive, and with the information I need to make a decision.” Terry Glaspey Director of Acquisitions and Development Harvest House Publishers

“As a literary agent, I saw a lot of proposals. Mary’s are top-notch—comprehensive, thoughtful, well written, and professional. I’m proud to send them to the best publishers in the business.” Beth Jusino, former Literary Agent

“Mary’s proposals include the straightforward facts that publishers need with a personable style that publishers want. Great research, great voice, great proposal. Mary does an excellent job selling herself without seeming to sell herself.” Andy

“Mary’s book proposals reflect her intelligence, wit, and charm, as well as her high level of craftsmanship as a writer. And just as important, her concepts are fresh. She has no interest in covering the same ground that has been plowed already by other authors. That’s important to a book editor who is glassy-eyed from reading stacks of proposals.” Ron Lee, senior editor, WaterBrook Multnomah

Still considering? See what other writers have to say:

Mary’s focused, easy to follow proposal tutorial took my project from idea to paperback almost overnight. After reviewing my first try at the proposal my agent said it was one of the best proposals she’d seen. Two months later I had a contract for my first book. I am so thankful for Mary’s proposal tutorial. It is straightforward, professional, and Mary knows exactly how to help an author bring her/his voice to this document. Thanks Mary for making my first book, Green Mama, a reality! Tracey Bianchi — author, Green Mama: The Guilt Free Guide to Helping You and Your Kids Save the Planet (Zondervan).

“After publishing 10 books I found myself in a rut. All of my new book proposals seemed stale and canned. Mary DeMuth’s How to Write a Non-Fiction Book Proposal That Will Grab An Editor By The Throat (In a Good Way) is just what I needed. She provided clear and simple instruction that allowed me to add the right amount of pizzazz to my proposals. Now I’m able to make editors say, ‘Wow!’ too.” Shannon Primicerio, author of The Divine Dance, God Called a Girl and the True Life Bible Study series for teen girls

“As a new and inexperienced writer, Mary DeMuth’s non-fiction proposal tutorial gave me vital insider information into the proposal writing process. Now, over two years later, I still refer to it as I craft new proposals and refine old ones. An invaluable tool!” Michele Cushatt

“I successfully landed a literary agent! This non-fiction tutorial was instrumental in the process thus far. It is comprehensive and allows the author to creatively showcase their book concept. The book proposal that I ended up with after following Mary’s guidance will surely stand out in a slush pile. Worth every single penny!” Sarah Francis Martin

…

So, if you’re a self-starter who wants to tackle this book publishing thing with a terrific tool in your back pocket, simply purchase the nonfiction proposal tutorial (for nonfiction … I suppose that’s obvious) or the fiction proposal tutorial (if you’ve written a novel.)

A few points before you make your $25 purchase:

1. If you’re writing nonfiction, DO NOT WRITE THE WHOLE BOOK. Editors and agents only want your proposal plus three sample chapters.
2. If you’re writing fiction, you MUST WRITE THE WHOLE BOOK. Novels are such difficult creatures that an editor must see you can pull off the entire story arc. Used to be you didn’t need a proposal. But in today’s publishing climate, it gives you the needed professional edge to grab an editor’s attention.
3. Here’s the skinny: You either need to know how to sell your book or you don’t.  If you need to know, then my e-book will save you dozens of hours of time trying to figure out what every author already knows.  For the cost of a pair of movie tickets and a box of bad popcorn, I can teach you how to write a professional proposal.  That knowledge will last you a lot longer than the popcorn will.

Ready? All you need is a credit card. As soon as you order, you’ll receive a secret link to download the tutorial and a free Word download template. Happy proposal writing! And be sure to email me when you land an agent or a contract!

The post The First Step To Published: A Book Proposal appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

When others used to criticize me, I would shut down completely. Be thrown into a spiral. I’d brood for days to the point I became deeply introspective.

I just lied.

Criticism didn’t just USED to shut me down. It STILL does. It’s hard, folks. And I let the words of others sink into me, far more than they should.

But I read a great book recently, recommended by my friend Susie Larson entitled The Stronghold of God by Francis Frangipane. And it helped me tremendously. (More on that in a bit, but first a little walk down Dysfunctional Lane).

I’ve struggled with worth since toddlerhood, hauling around this great big feeling of inferiority. So if/when someone would criticize me, it threw me into a sad cesspool of feeling worthless. Since I wrongly equated my worth with either what I do or what people think of me, criticism became a double edged sword of crabbiness.

I sense I’m on the cusp of something brand spanking new, a revival of sorts, a newness of what I’ll be writing and sharing. But deeper than that, I’m feeling a strengthening of my innards, a holy confidence that I’ve longed for but seldom reached (ah those pesky insecurities and battles with worth run deep, deep, deep). And yet, if I am to step out, to grow into my own skin, to be wildly and wholly loved by Jesus and walk that boldly out, the enemy of my soul (and yours) will flat out NOT like that. He’ll throw things my (your) way.

Maybe you understand what I’m talking about? What has been your reaction when others criticize?

Francis Frangipane seems to get it. He wrote this. “If you are going to be successful in the Lord’s work, you must find God’s hiding place from one of the most painful weapons in Satan’s arsenal: the critical tongue.“

Can I hear an AMEN?

Psalm 31:20 says this amazing stuff: “You hide them in the shelter of your presence, safe from those who conspire against them. You shelter them in your presence, far from accusing tongues.”

God is the One who shelters us, folks. When those accusing tongues flap our way, we must take that opportunity to flee to His presence, asking Him to sift us, to sort it out, and to heal our word wounds.

Simply being aware of Satan’s schemes has helped me tremendously–particularly when I’m on the cusp of renewal and an internal revival like I sense right now. Francis clarifies, “It is while the new work of God is trembling forward that Satan seeks to bring his greatest assault. The form he takes in his war against our new beginnings in Christ is accusation.”

So if you’re experiencing an unusual amount of criticism, take heart. (Click to tweet this). Perhaps you’re on the brink of spiritual breakthrough. That’s encouraging!

Francis shared about a time in his ministry where criticism felt unrelenting. God didn’t remove the folks criticizing. Instead He used that very criticism to change Francis. Criticism can be like Paul’s thorn in the flesh, given to us by God to keep us from exalting ourselves, and forcing us to truly, deeply rely on Jesus for true worth and shelter.

Francis writes this: “To inoculate me from the praise of man, He baptized me in the criticism of man until I died to the control of man.” Yes. This. Yes.

I’m feeling the weight and beauty of that in my life right now. A letting go of the words spoken against. A pressing into to the God who is more after my holiness than my happiness. A carving away of my insatiable need for (longing of? idolization of?) approval. A more settled place, comfortable in my skin, finally. (Insert cheer here!)

It’s tyranny, folks, when we live for the applause or approval of everyone. (Click to tweet.) And when we dare to step out, walk in newness and freedom, be assured criticism will come. It has to. Satan hates free Christians. HATES them. He wants us enslaved to the approval of others, immobilized after criticism, introspective to a fault. So he often has folks hurl hurt our way.

And here’s the kicker: those folks are often Christians. Which makes the whole mess a hairdo of fear and crazy and confusion. (My next book, The Wall Around Your Heart, deals with this issue. Watch for it in October).

We don’t have to live in fear. We don’t have to let those who criticize upset us for weeks and months. (Click to tweet.) The simple solution is to use the criticism as a catapult toward Jesus.

Because Jesus gets it. He was misunderstood. Maligned. Called a demon (can you imagine?). He comes to us in our mess and the fear and loathing that comes in the aftermath of criticism.

Francis continues, “As much as I hated it when people slandered me, this was the very thing God used to compel me nearer to His heart.” Yep, another AMEN.

So instead of being freaked about criticism, be fruitful. (Click to tweet). Instead of mulling over, give it to Jesus to sort through. Instead of letting it stop you in your tracks, dare to take another step toward your dream. Don’t let the criticism deter you. Give it to Jesus, find joy, and move on.

(Important note: I’m not advocating we never listen to criticism or heed it. Wise folks listen to it and take it to heart. But it doesn’t need to settle into your soil like poison. Instead, give it to Jesus, let HIM tell you what to take from it, then move on.)

The post When Others Criticize appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I wrote this little piece right after band trip in the Spring. I thought it might resonate with you as you consider how you live RIGHT NOW. Yep, even at the grocery store we can be the hands and feet and mouth of Jesus.

Usually at the grocery store I pay little attention to the person checking my groceries, but today God’s desire for me to choose people prompted me to talk. This is how our conversation went:

“How are you today, ma’am?”

“I’m very tired. Just got back from traveling 20 hours on a bus for a band trip.”

“I used to love band trips,” she said. “The best trip was to Corpus Christi.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, we had a lot of down time, so I could really relax on the beach.”

“What instrument did you play in band?”

“I was on the drum line, but I injured my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard. Did you have surgery?”

“No, just some shots and lots of physical therapy.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Are you better now?”

She smiled. “Yes, much. But sometimes I have to sleep on the floor if it flares up.” She handed me my receipt. “Thank you Mrs. DeMuth. You’ve received a 20% off gas discount today.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

I can’t tell you how joyfully fulfilling it was to walk away from that interaction. How much have I missed in this world by being too preoccupied with my time, my needs, my groceries, my agenda? This girl, hopefully, felt listened to and validated. She had the opportunity to share her story, to have someone enter into that story, however brief, and empathize alongside. As I left, I saw a manager type, but obviously my observation skills needed help. He turned out to be a deli worker. “But I can help you?” he said.

I pointed to the checker. “Would you be willing to tell your manager that the checker over there did an amazing job just now?”

“Absolutely,” he said. I walked out of the store, humming, then smiling. It feels good, so good, to choose people.

The post Engage in your daily life appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

This film is beautiful. It’s a gift to you this Father’s Day. Thanks to these folks who graciously sent me a link.

And What Remains from Resonate Pictures on Vimeo.

The post And What Remains (Fathers Matter) appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Remember the one who shattered your heart, ruptured your purity, and severed your hope?
He’s lying on the ground, dead – breathless – heavy – and the chains of grief are tied around your ankles – and his hands.

Only you hold the key.

He is chained to you because you want him there – now you are in control. You won’t unlock the pain – you feel less injured keeping the thief this close to you.

You own the shadows of your past – like a tree owns its leaves – unable to release – unless the roots say so.
Letting go would make the past okay. Rooting in the rancor, you remain vindicated – sheltered – less broken.

If you let him go, that means you might be free. And what is freedom anyways?
Unfamiliar – even more dangerous than learned confinement.

Dragging a dead body around is strenuous, but you prevail as commander of your sorrow.

Holding resentments tucked in your back pocket, listing them daily on your to-do lists, and cradling them so comfortable in your arms – as if you had birthed them – this keeps you trapped.

And the one who did this to you barely even knows you’re there. The chains you hold so dear have no hold on him.

I forgave my abuser. I stopped holding him hostage – and in so doing, I let God open the prison doors for me. I let Him hold my heart and my pain, and gave him the key – finally.

Burying and blame look a lot like this: I put myself in the car with him that day, and I let him drive me to the park, and I let him touch me, and I touched him.

But I was not too blame. He’d chosen me. Won my trust. Manipulated my heart so he could perpetrate my body. Covering me with accolades of adoration just to slay my sexuality.

Victim I was.
But I traded His power for my prisons.
Victor I am today.

Past hurts resurface. They rise up and cry out – hold me again. Pick me up and nourish the pain.
Forgiveness if final. It is finished and He is enough. I receive it over this violation.

And yet I waiver in the everyday acts of absolution.

When my “sister” in Christ says one more cutting word about me.
When my adopted son pushes me away – assuring me we won’t be close today.
When the stranger cuts me off – in traffic, in my train of thought, in my joy.

It’s in the daily – I find my prisons reborn.
It’s in the moments – I choose again to re-chain the sorrow.
It’s in the breathing – I give up my freedom all over.

If it’s possible to forgive every time because of the accessible power of Christ – why do I resist?
If it’s true He finished on the cross what I could never begin to forgive even about my broken heart – my dirty choices – why fight?
If it’s the chains that keep us broken, locked up, alone – why return to them – over and over?

Remembering today how breaking free is not only optional – but optimal – I will choose His Very Best.
I will rest at the feet of The One Safe Place.

Remember the one who shattered your heart, ruptured your purity, and severed your hope?
He’s no longer safe. He’s no longer in control.

If you’ve been rescued by The King – live where Forgiveness is Final – where you no longer cradle your pain, but rather –
You are cradled by The One who holds you through your past, present – and future.

The post When You Finally Let Go | Jenny Price appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

On Sunday you turn 15 years old. You’ve weathered a difficult year, missing half your first semester with an unknown and scary illness, but you persevered and got to see God heal those crazy headaches.

You have given your heart to Jesus in new ways. I’m so proud of you, Julia. You love your friends well and you enjoy hanging out with the family. You are grounded, smart, and empathetic. I love the way God put you together.

Fifteen years ago, you didn’t want to come screaming into the world. You preferred the warm cocoon of me to the harsh realities beyond. In one week you flew on your first airplane to Texas, moving your citizenship from the great Pacific Northwest to big ol’ hot Texas. You still like spicy food more than any of us.

You were the bravest girl in French schools, not speaking a lick of French, learning to make friends, and enduring teachers who called you stupid. They were liars. They didn’t tell the truth. But for a season, you believed those lies. Seeing how beautifully you raised your grades this year from the abyss of absences and hospital stays PROVES your intelligence.

You are beautiful, funny, and helpful. You respect others. You stick your neck out for your friends. You are loyal. You love animals well. Whether you admit it or not, you’re a natural born storyteller.

I’m so grateful for you, for your perseverance during this difficult year, for your smile, for learning to admit when you’re wrong, for praying for me, for knowing when I’m sad and offering comfort. I see big things in your life, big changes in the kingdom of God because of you.

Love,

Mom

The post Happy Birthday, Julia! appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Be the first folks in the whole wide world to read The Wall Around Your Heart. (It doesn’t come out until October 15th).

I’m looking for a few good Bible study groups. Do you lead a study? Are you looking for something fresh and different? Have you felt like your walk with God is blocked? Do you struggle with a pesky wall around your heart because other folks have pooped on you? (By the way, that was my first title for this book: How to Thrive after People Have Pooped on You….but I digress).

I’m giving away three sets of ten of The Wall Around Your Heart before it’s even released. I have this holy hunch that the book will be a great tool to use in groups, and that many, many will be set free from their walls as a result. Here’s a bit about the book:

Family members hurt us. Friends betray us. Fellow Christians deceive us. But Jesus provides a path through the pain—the Lord’s Prayer.

In The Wall Around Your Heart, I show you that you can reach wholeness and healing in the aftermath of painful relationships by following the road map of the Lord’s Prayer. You’ll walk through story after story of hurt people who are led through biblical truth into amazing, life-sustaining, joyful growth.

Life is hard. People can be mean and petty and awful. But they can also be amazing and beautiful and sacrificial. God is good. He is faithful. You can trust him with your relationships. “He’ll send people to call out what is hard in your heart,” I write. “And that’s a gift to you.”

Allow God to access the wall around your heart. Dare to say, “Tear down the bricks, Lord, whatever it takes.” Pray first. Ask for bravery—for yourself and for others. Risk engaging despite your hurt. Seek the shelter of Jesus.

You don’t have to resign yourself to your wounds! You can rise above the pain. You’ll usher in a new life—an openhearted way of relating to others that expands the kingdom of God. In the process, you’ll draw closer to Jesus, be healed, and become an agent of healing to others.

…

Here’s how the giveaway will work. First, once you receive the books, you’ll need to meet several weeks (It’s 11 chapters; you can divide them up however you want) prior to October 1st so that you finish the study by then. You need to be willing to be interviewed for a blog post–you and your group. I promise it will be fun. And you need to have some ideas about how to promote this book to small groups.

How to win: In the comments section, give me three things:

1. What is your group like? (Or are you gathering one just for this study). What is your hope for this study?
2. Name a creative way you and/or your group can help promote The Wall Around Your Heart to other groups.
3. Your email address written out like this mary @ marydemuth . com.

I will give away three sets of ten books. If there are more than three entries, my daughter (and assistant) Sophie will choose the three best responses. You have until Midnight on June 16th to apply. Comment away, folks! I hope you win.

The post Win The Wall Around Your Heart 5 Months Early! appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

It’s about helping (well) and loving people, no matter where they live. It’s not about giving you a guilt trip for not gallivanting around the world. Guilt never saved the world. Jesus did. And Jesus found ways to love the folks in front of Him. He dignified the lonely, listened to the restless, hugged the outcast. And so can we.

How best can we figure out how to care for folks? That’s the subject of Idea Camp. I wish I could go this year, but my son’s senior year dictates that I stay near home and engage well with him and his amazing life.

But I want to invite you to Idea Camp because some of my most favorite people ever are there. You will discuss. You will mingle. You will come up with real life solutions. You will fall in love again with the local church. And you will make lasting, permanent, cool friendships.

A few months from now (September 20-21), these awesome folks (along with YOU) will be congregating in Austin to talk about caring for the needs of the world and how the church can do it best. It is a two day gathering with some of the most interesting and amazing practitioners in all of the various aspects of God-centered human care in the country.

Idea Camp is more of a conversation than it is a conference. How can the church better care for the world and what does that look like? Join us in September in Austin.

To find out more, click here.

The post Guilt Never Saved the World appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

It’s never, ever easy to forgive. We’ve all been hurt, betrayed, bothered, purposefully maligned. And when those things happen, life careens and our hearts ache like no tomorrow.

Today I want to offer you a helpful tool in your journey of forgiveness. This comes from the excellent book: As We Forgive by Catherine Claire Larson. The acronym REACH is pioneered by Everett Worthington Junior and helps us all deal with issues of forgiveness in a clear, simple way.

To forgive, we must REACH.

Recall the hurt (don’t deny or minimize it). Forgiveness is NOT forgetting. It’s remembering the pain, then making a choice to forgive anyway. That’s what makes forgiveness powerful and difficult. We can’t forgive what we’ve stuffed. We must open the wound, own it, and admit that it hurt like crazy.

Empathize with the person who hurt you (try to see it from their perspective). This is not easy. I learned to do this with the boys who molested me, remembering that they who victimized most likely were victims themselves. Hurt people hurt people, the cliche goes, but it’s true. Finding a way to jump into the shoes of the offender is important. It helps you see them not as monsters but as human beings.

Altruistic gift of forgiveness (Remember when someone forgave you). What helps us forgive is remembering a tangible experience where someone offered us forgiveness. Remembering this altruistic gift helps us to know how to offer it. If you can’t recall a time when someone outrageously forgave you, consider Jesus’ amazing forgiveness of you.

Commit publicly to forgive. It’s one thing to say it in your journal. It’s another to share your desire to forgive with a close friend. Determine to forgive, but tell someone else about it. That kind of accountability helps you when you don’t feel like forgiveness. Once your desire is “out there,” you’re committed.

Hold on to forgiveness. This is the hardest for me. I choose to forgive, but then I do takebacks. Or the emotion of the situation attacks me again. Or another infraction blares into my life. It takes tenacity and grit to continue to choose to forgive. It’s not an emotion; it’s a choice.

What about you? When has it been easy to forgive? When has it been excruciating? What has helped you the most on the journey of forgiveness?

The post You Can Forgive the Unforgiveable appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

The words of Taylor Swift keep floating through my mind.

“When you’re fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them.”

Fifteen wasn’t magical for me…neither was fourteen, or even thirteen…back when I made my first mistake.
Fifteen was when I reaped what I had sown…or so I believed at the time.

Looking back, almost thirty years now, it hardly even seems like a memory. More like a story about a total stranger that I heard along the way; the details are faded, somewhat blended together like the words on those concert t-shirts I wore to shreds.

I like to think of that time that way…distant, detached…unconnected to my heart, to who I am now. That little girl has gone forever…or so I thought…until I had my own little girl.

How could I protect her from making the same mistakes I made, from feeling the same pain I felt without confessing my shame? I knew that she would never think of me the same, that her innocent image of me would be eroded, but I also knew that she must know that good girls can get sucked into doing bad things, and that could lead to very dangerous and painful circumstances.

Taylor sings:

“When all you wanted was to be wanted… Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now.”

All of the old feelings of anxiety rushed back as I thought of how I should tell her what I know now. And the old familiar voice of guilt taunted me…”You asked for it…you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself…you deserved it…what does it matter?

I was a good girl! I went to church on Sunday. I volunteered. I got good grades in school. I obeyed my mom and tried not to cause her any grief like my father and sister continually seemed to.

But I wanted to be wanted…and I didn’t know then, what I know now.

When I was thirteen, I believed the lie. “If you love me, you will…” So I did.

I knew it was wrong. But I believed him. He said we would be together forever. We weren’t. I didn’t know then how that one mistake would just be the beginning in a long string.

When that relationship ended, there was another. He was fun…at first…took the sting out of my broken heart. I didn’t expect to give in to him, but I did. I had already done the unthinkable. I was already tainted. It was too late, and I couldn’t get back my virginity.

After awhile, I began to feel this sick feeling every time I was with him. I knew I needed out. “Couldn’t we just go on one last date?” He coaxed, “I already bought the tickets to that concert you have been wanting to go to.”

I agreed…and the next Saturday we went.

The concert was great from what I remember. He went out and got me a few sodas…or what I thought was soda.

Suddenly so sleepy, I vaguely remember walking out of the theatre. Then nothing…

Until I woke up in a hotel room to find him…

I screamed, tried to get away, but he was strong and finished what he started. Still spinning from my “soda” and horrified from what happened, I cried. He smugly said he thought I wanted it.

I woke up the next morning shaking. I felt sick to my stomach and guilty, wondering to myself, if I brought that on?

My rational brain would tell me, “No, that was wrong…that was rape.” But I still couldn’t shake the dirty guilt.

A year had passed when the phone rang after midnight. The sound of his deep velvety voice slithered into my ear, my heart plummeted to my toes…I started shaking uncontrollably but strangely, I couldn’t hang up the phone.

“How have you been?” He asked.

“Why are you calling?” I managed to breathe out.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“You what?”

“You see, I didn’t want to lose you…” He began. “…I put something in your soda…I was hoping to get you pregnant so you would have to marry me.” I was shocked! Speechless!

“You didn’t, did you? Get pregnant, I mean?”

“No. Thank God.” I heard myself whisper.

“I’m very sorry for what I did.” He said matter of factly.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” He continued. Mad… Scared… Relieved. He admitted it! It wasn’t my fault after all!

I managed to push out a weak “OK.” Then I hung up the phone.

“I wanted to get you pregnant so you would have to marry me…” kept floating through my mind.

“Oh, Dear God! Thank You for rescuing me from that!” I prayed out loud that night and thousands of times since…for that and several other messes I found myself in later.

Unfortunately, I still continued to make poor boy decisions…year after year…until at nineteen, God introduced me to my wonderful husband.

God has always been faithful…even when I wasn’t faithful to Him. The Perfect Father to replace the one that wasn’t. A Love so unconditional; He met me where I was, and loved me enough not to leave me there. Over and over again, all through my life, He has rescued me.

Taylor sings:

“When all you wanted was to be wanted… Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now.”

I would tell myself:

That God always wanted me…no matter what! Always!

That’s what I told my daughter, too.

The post I Wanted to be Wanted | Lauren Huss appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

“Your entrance looks so inviting,” a Facebook friend wrote. She referred to a picture I’d posted about my front door. I spent that weekend sanding, cleaning, then painting my black front door to a fiery, joyful, hilarious red. The new door is a metaphor to a life of invitation, a year of choosing relationships.

I wonder how many people will walk through its threshold this year, how many people will share our table, how we will be changed by the new and old relationships in our lives.

It’s interesting to me that Jesus calls himself the door. The way. The avenue to God and to ultimate relationship. Maybe all of us should paint our front doors as a reminder of the gateway of Jesus. And if we’re scared, we can always just turn to our Doorway, Jesus. He sure knew how to love people.

So how’s your entrance? Not just to your home, but to your life? Do you have walls? A chain link fence? Barbed wire? Or are you invitational, winsome, irresistible? In a few months, my book The Wall Around Your Heart will release.

I just got the ARC (advance reader copy) in the mail. Isn’t it pretty?

My prayer for this book (just like my red, red door) would be an entrance into a new life for you, an openhearted you.

The post How is Your Entrance? appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Dear Mark,

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you. I wish I had because there are so many words I’d like to say. If your life stretched longer, I would’ve been a better stepdaughter, would’ve communicated better, would’ve cherished you in the way you deserved. I can’t buy back time. I can’t reclaim lost moments. It’s a lesson I’ll tuck into my heart in a deep, melancholy way–that this life is far too brief to let moments slip away. And yet, they have slipped.

You died on Sunday.

Took your last breath of Northwest air, my mom desperate for more pieces and snippets of time with you. To no doubt convey love, appreciation and gratitude for who you are to her. But the disease had its maniacal way, and now you’re no longer here.

You left a gargantuan hole in the hearts of those you left behind. In your friends, family, and in us.

It took me a long time to finally meet you. My teenage stubbornness dictated it. Still stinging from my life and the circumstances surrounding it, I had no place in my heart for you. With my father dead five years and my stepfather in the wings of my life, I didn’t want to know another man, particularly not one who might leave me.

I have this ache, you see. And actually I think you did see it, though we never spoke of it in the open. This hole in me that longs for a steady, alive, cheerleading father. I was surprised when I met you how gentle you were, how softspoken, how behind the scenes you preferred to be. You didn’t announce yourself with fanfare, but your love felt like a symphony to me of the kind of love that smacks of Jesus–that big, wide unconditional love all us broken folks long for.

It took time, but we made our peace–you being steady and steadfast, me trying to fit into an adult world, navigating high school, then college. You waited to live with my mom until I left home for good, the two of you setting up house and a convivial way. I knew you loved her. I knew she loved you.

And for decades you danced that dance–mutual admiration, casual and not-so-casual conversation, and a commitment that clings to covenant. You dedicated yourself to her. You loved her well. Oh so well. I love(d) you for that. Three days before you died, you married my mom.

When Patrick asked me to marry him, I initially battled a conundrum. Who would walk me down the aisle?

But it had to be you. I’m glad it was you. Me, your surrogate daughter on your arms, my eyes stained with tears, and your steady, steady walk down the aisle. I felt you would hold me up if I crumpled. Your strength became mine.

You went out of your way for me, for my marriage, and then our family. You blessed us by sneaking bits of money our way when we struggled. You asked great questions. You dignified our faith by being interested. You watched my career in writing and praised me, asked me questions, and cheerleaded my progress.

You took delight in each one of my children, opening your heart up to them, grandfathering them in the tenderest of ways. You loved them well.

I’m having a hard time writing this letter to you because I don’t know how to thank you. Even wordsmiths are wordless in times of grief. I wish I could’ve given you one last hug, a tender I love you, a giant thank you card to show you your worth to us. I hope you know that we loved you. I hope you know that I needed you, and that you filled a hole in my heart.

Which is why mourning right now feels impossibly painful. The hole is no longer filled. It sits agape, wanting. Because it is Mark-shaped, and no one can fill it.

Oh dear Jesus, I will miss you, Mark. Our family will miss you. We will declare our admiration and love at your memorial service, but it will not satisfy. Because only having you here on this beautiful earth will.

Thank you.

Oh thank you.

You have been an example of love and compassion and kindness and integrity to all of us and we will miss you dearly. Thank you for living in such a way that your passing would leave a gaping hole. That means you loved well, that you affected many, that you changed folks’ lives by your gentleness and sweet demeanor.

I can only hope to live a similar legacy.

I love you. I hope I loved you well as you loved me.

Mary

The post Thank you, Mark appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Something is wrong when the church protects perpetrators and marginalizes victims. In recent months, we’ve seen a bit of the underbelly of covering up sexual abuse, demanding victims forgive and forget instantly for the sake of the poor offenders whose lives might be ruined if they were found out. (See this article at Christianity Today that summarizes a recent case).

(Note: This post isn’t about the Sovereign Grace Ministries situation particularly as much as it is about any church that listens more to the perpetrators than to the victims. I believe this is a universal problem.)

Cover up that exalts the “ministry” or a ministry personality over the well being of one who has been sinned against does not represent the Jesus I follow.

Jesus looked for the outcasted. He dignified the marginalized. He stooped (in the sweetest, gentlest way) to side with the woman caught in adultery, against her prosecutors and (perhaps) her sexual partner. He confronted sin in his closest group of ministry partners, even telling Satan to take a backseat. He noticed the woman with the issue of blood—a victim of biology and the probably shunning of the crowd. He clearly listened to the downtrodden. He identified, by coming to earth, with those bent beneath their loads. He welcomed scampering children while the disciples scoffed. His lap was safe.

And He said this: “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea” (Mark 9:42, ESV). When a ministry adult or congregant pursues his/her own sexual deviance and violates a child sexually, how is he/she exempt from the millstone? And why do we try to alleviate the weight of that millstone by covering up?

The church does far better when it acknowledges its sin, living fearlessly and honestly, than when it prefers to show a pretty, unadulterated face to the world. Unfortunately, we have become so enamored with the ministries we have built, forgetting that God Himself builds His church (and thinking it weighs on our shoulders), that we have lived in depraved fear, preferring the words of perpetrators over the words of those abused. We wrongly believe that we are in the business of reputation management.

Of course, I am not in the midst of this recent scandal, and I am not at all walking in either crowd’s shoes, leaders or victims, but from the outside it feels a lot like covering up for the sake of keeping the ministry machine alive.

Problem is, ministry at its heart is about freedom. Truth is what sets us free. Honesty, authenticity, humility—all these should typify the church we all love. If someone one our watch or in our ministry hurts another one, particularly a child, then full disclosure along with the legal system being alerted is the least we can do. Corporate pain and a willingness to rebuild the one destroyed should be the story we live.

Never covering up.

Never demanding cheap grace.

Never vilifying victims who risked everything to admit to the shameful acts.

I have written this before, and I stand by it: One of Satan’s most devious schemes on this earth is the sexual abuse of children. It ruins. It degrades. It impoverishes. It darkens understanding of God’s goodness. I can write this because I experienced it, hellish and pervasive, during my fifth year of life. Not one person saved me, though I asked for help. Not one hero stepped in to say, “This is wrong, and you will be held accountable by the law.” And I was left believing that the only person who could protect me on this earth was me.

After I told my babysitter and nothing was done to stop the abuse, I became scrappy—feigning sleep, saving myself. And then we moved far, far away. But the haunting stayed with me. The secret came out ten years later, soon after I met Jesus. By then the statute of limitations had long run out, and I would never (in this life) see the perpetrators brought to justice.

When we create church structures that do not listen to children who have been violated or believe their parents who stand horrified and broken, and instead prefer the perpetrating adults, we essentially hang the millstone around the family’s neck.

Paul’s dealings with the Corinthian man who had sexual relations with his “father’s wife” is instructive here. “It is actually reported that there is sexual immorality among you, and of a kind that is not tolerated even among pagans, for a man has his father’s wife. And you are arrogant! Ought you not rather to mourn? Let him who has done this be removed from among you” (1 Corinthians 5:1-2, ESV). Paul did not ask them to coddle, to hear the man’s story. He didn’t ask them to protect the man or silence the victim. He mandated the man who sinned be removed from their midst because of his egregious sexual sin.

Yet some have settled for keeping the violator within the ranks of the church with no penalty, and even defending him or her. We have “protected” the integrity of the church by violating its integrity through hiding and evasion.

Of course the goal of this kind of church discipline is restoration, but it must first be acknowledged as sin, openly. More than that, we must dignify victims, validating their voices. Our concern should be overspending ourselves, working feverishly toward the victim’s restoration and operating within the legal system to ensure justice is served.

The outcome of the Corinthian man’s situation was beautiful, surprising restoration. (See 2 Corinthians 2:5-11). As the church of Jesus Christ, we hope for no less. We long to see both perpetrator and victim come to a place of surrender. Jesus died for the sins committed against us and the sins we commit, so that we can all experience His profound grace at the level place of the cross.

But if sin is covered up, never confessed, never called to account, how can grace abound? If a perpetrator is not confronted, how can he/she come to a place of utter brokenness about sin? And if we allow perpetrators free reign in our churches, how can we honestly say we follow Jesus—the One who welcomed children on His lap?

I love the church. Jesus loves the church a billion times more. It represents His body on this great, beautiful earth. He doesn’t need us to micromanage its reputation by covering up the acts of sinful people within it. No, He simply asks that we are truthful and handle sin like this with dignity and integrity.

The post When the Church Prefers Perpetrators appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

This is a guest post by Tedd Cadd. He shared this with me several weeks ago, and I knew that his words would really, truly bless my readers. So soak in this amazing, sweet truth.

…

I recently read this in The Gifts of Imperfection by Dr. Brené Brown:

There is a line from Leonard Cohen’s song “Anthem” that serves as a reminder to me when I get into that place where I am trying to control everything and make it perfect.

The line is, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

So many of us run around spackling all the cracks, trying to make everything look just right. This line helps me remember the beauty of the cracks…

It reminds me that our imperfections are not inadequacies, they are reminders that we’re all in this together. Imperfectly but together.

As I read that, I was reminded of lighthouses. Each lighthouse has a different light pattern and different paint and different design. Each lighthouse protects ships from dangers unique to its specific position. Should the lighthouse want to mimic another light, it puts the ships in its vicinity in danger. So the ships looking for a safe harbor need to see the real light pattern—not the made up one.

Each person’s story will touch lives but only when the story is told authentically.

We don’t find Jesus because of the parts of our lives that are whole. We find him (or, perhaps, he finds us) because of the cracks.

So the Light comes in—if the crack is bigger, even more light gets in. If we buy into the lie that all is made perfect when he comes in—and if we then start patching up the cracks—then others only see the lie and begin patching their cracks.

If I patch up my cracks and you patch yours, we will never find each other. We remain in darkness.

Like the lighthouses, my cracks and another’s are different but there are some similarities. When I tell you I was sexually abused as a child, you already know some things about me that I haven’t said. But our stories are also unique. And each story needs to be heard.

When I finally got so very weary of patching my cracks—especially the big ones—I gave up. “Whatever you want to do, God, is fine with me.”

I expected him to remove my pathetic spackling jobs and I wasn’t disappointed. I was unprepared for the pain he had to inflict to remove the debris.

But instead of bringing a big bucket of Holy Spackle, he began framing each crack for a window. The most painful of all, he is taking all the broken pieces of my childhood–my life, one by one, and fashioning them into works of stained glass art, each window custom fit to a crack.

We are surrounded with darkness in a world run by the Prince of Darkness. If the Light has come in and if we refuse to board up our stained-glass cracks, others can see the beauty of our cracks—each drawn most desperately—violently even—to the colors in in cracks they share with us. That is where hope begins.

If we insist on patching, we are boarding up a cathedral.

How about you? How has God framed your pain to make a stained glass window?

The post There is a Crack in Everything | Tedd Cadd appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I think I’ve become a relationship agoraphobic, afraid to venture beyond the threshold of my life. I’m Miss Havisham of Great Expectations fame, letting one (or many) jiltings securely lock me inside the safe walls of my home, hoarding my heart to myself. Sometimes it takes a friend and a conversation to pull me from hiding.

Today that happened. We talked. She shared something so deep, so painful, so aching that I felt a holy presence engulfing us as she poured herself. Something rose up within me—a Jesus empathy for her, her story, her lot. Tears came to both of us. A hug, too. And a fervent, aching prayer for Jesus to intersect her current struggle. I left our time feeling awe, yet my heart heavied.

One reason why France bricked my heart is this terrible-awful-sweet gift God’s given me called Empathy. Empathy helps me enter into the pain of another, slip on its shoes, and walk around in it. Problem is, the shoes glue themselves to me and I can’t take them off without ripping the flesh from my feet. Empathy is my DNA, so much a part of me I can’t extricate it. I wore my friend’s grief all evening. It stays.

While in France I also realized I couldn’t be the person who knew everything. It was just too hard for me to know what all the church leaders knew, to see the people who inflicted injury on others and not let it affect me.

My empathy also breeds a huge animosity toward those that hurt others. Although I know it’s not good to live my life in fairyland, never wiser to the workings of people and their problems, it’s also not good for me to be privy to down and dirty details. I’m weak that way.

My husband? He can carry. He can love people knowing all the stuff. He can move on, seldom immobilized. This used to bother me, but now it endears me to him. His logic marries my empathy and makes a great marriage. Sometimes he needs me to remind him about empathy. Sometimes I need him to remind me of logic and persevering nonetheless.

My fallback is to hide my heart, to retreat from the pain. Which is why I wrote my upcoming book, The Wall Around Your Heart. I can tend toward retreating like Miss Havisham, but God has shown me so much joy by letting Him tear down the wall, brick by brick.

What about you? What makes you retreat from others? Are you high or low on the empathy scale?

The post Don’t Be Miss Havisham appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

In the midst of some of that turmoil, I penned this prayer a few weeks ago and shared it on my facebook page. It got such a good response that I turned it into a pin and would like to share it here with you.

Feel free to pray this any time, or share this post with a friend who struggles in his/her relationships right now. My prayer? That this prayer would deeply bless you, help your heart find the words it wants to say, and settle the chaos.

With joy,

Mary

What relationship in your life right now needs the most healing?

The post A Prayer for your Relationships appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I hadn’t spent enough time with my youngest daughter Julia, so I decided to speak her love language (shopping) and hang out with her. We started our excursion as all good southerners do, by stopping by Chick-Fil-A for lunch.

Even at 1:00, the place was shoe-horned by people. We had to hover awkwardly over a departing family to get a table.

That’s when I saw the man. Short. A bit gaunt. He had a wife and a child, and he sat at the table behind me. I so clearly heard from God about the man that I felt the empathy in my gut. But I ignored the prompt. All those people stirring about. The embarrassment of approaching a stranger and telling him, “Um, you don’t know me, but God wants me to let you know that He sees you and has such great compassion for you,” trumped my resolve.

So Julia and I finished our chicken, bussed our table, and walked out into the Texas air.

I should’ve approached the man. I ache to right now in the recollection. I told this story when I taught our Life Group at church. Julia happened to be in class then.

After my talk, she said, “Mom, you know what? I felt exactly the same way about that man. That we should’ve encouraged him.”

I’d not only missed an opportunity to show a man that Jesus loved him, but I also neglected to be an example of holy verve to my daughter who also hears the compassionate voice of Jesus. I wonder how the story would’ve played out, how we, mother and daughter, could’ve experienced God’s affection for this man together, side by side.

How about you? What regrets do you have about not responding to a holy hunch in your heart? Or encourage us with a story about a time when you did “just reach out.”

The post Just Reach Out appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Currently, I’m in South Africa! Johannesburg to be exact, teaching at the Beauty for Ashes conference. The last time I was in South Africa was for the Cape Town 2010 conference, which rocked my world. You can read about it here.

I’d so appreciate your prayers this weekend. Today I teach a mini conference about writing, all day long. I’d so appreciate your prayers for stamina and clarity. . On Saturday I teach at 8:30 and 11:00.

My friend Heidi is my assistant this week, so please pray for her and for her family while she’s away. Pray for my kids too. Sophie is in Hungary while I’m in Africa, and Aidan and Julia are finishing up their freshman and junior years of high school. My husband will be off to a medical conference in the midst of all that too. So prayers would be so very appreciated.

Any word I say, any person I listen to, any prayer I pray is empowered by your prayers on my behalf. Pray I’d be invigorated, bold, open, and persevering. Pray my messages would zing to the heart. And pray many would be blessed. Pray God would enlarge my heart, that I would learn to believe Him for bigger Kingdom things, that I would be faithful to say and do what He shows me.

Thank you for praying. I so appreciate it. The women in South Africa thank you! Look for a post in a bit with pictures from my trip.

The post I need prayer appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

To keep short accounts helps me to live with joy throughout what would’ve been a haunted day.

What that means (keep short accounts) is to settle issues quickly. In the accounting world, if I spend a little time each week working on reconciling my books, it’s an easy, simple task. However if I wait two months to do so, it becomes a hairdo of a mess. It’s the same in relationships.

Case in point:

Recently hubby snored like crazy, constantly interrupting my sleep. So when he woke, I barked at him, pretty darned angry.

A half hour later, I felt bad about my barking and sent him an apology text.

He received my apology, then apologized for the snoring. And harmony was restored, our relational account balanced.

I can’t tell you how relieved that made me feel, to clear the air before the day commenced. I could’ve let the anger fester, or let him live under my barking. But something down deep niggled me, this haunting that I didn’t want to spend my day with anger between us.

God’s quiet words to me of late are these: Choose people. I’ve let that little sentence frame the way I see others, train me to responsive to their needs, and think of people first before I consider my own needs. It’s made for some humbling, sweet moments of late.

Choosing people means choosing to apologize when we’re crabby. It means valuing the heart of the other, humbling ourselves enough to prove that value, and longing for sweet harmony when discord reigns. And it means keeping short accounts with those we love the most (our families and closest friends).

How about you? How do you keep short accounts? Why is it hard to apologize? What does it mean for you to choose people TODAY?

The post Keep Short Accounts appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Confession: I’ve been living for the wrong kingdom, measuring myself by the world’s standards. I have given in to believing the lie that money = worth.

No more.

By Jesus’ strength, I’m driving a stake in the ground. I’m no longer living for the world’s economy. I am choosing, deliberately, NOT to fret about provision. I will not, by God’s grace, give in to worry about this because it impoverishes the mission God has given me on this earth:

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, and publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.’” (Isaiah 52:7, ESV).

My job is to publish; His is to take those words and bring fruit, however that fruit may look.

My job is to speak God’s greatness. His job is to grow His kingdom.

My job is to look at heaven for reward (letting go of needing it so desperately here). His job is to provide that reward however He sovereignly sees fit.

My job is to love Him and love others. His job is to settle my worth once and for all–not attached to what I create or do or make or succeed in–but wholly determined by His affection toward me.

My job is to let go of needing certain outcomes to feel valid. His job is to validate me way down deep in my soul.

My job is to be faithful. That’s His job too.

I’d appreciate prayer as I actively choose to give up worry about finances and worth and success. Remind me if you see me getting weird or caught up in this publishing business. Remind me that it’s about Jesus’ kingdom expanding, His glory, not mine. Remind me that this world is so so so swift in its passing, and that what will last is what is done for God’s kingdom.

I place a stake in the ground. I’m living for a better story, choosing trust over fear. I pray the same for you.

The post A stake in the ground appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I drove my high school kids to school recently. As we left our development, we noticed my friend who teaches at the school, pull out behind us. A few days prior, I worked on invitations for a party here at my house, and I’d forgotten to invite her, though she is a dear, dear person to me. As I drove home, I wondered if my heart was too small for all the relationships God has blessed me with. Not in a Grinch-like way, but simply because I don’t feel like I give people enough, or some fade from memory.

When one of my kids shared about a friend whose parents were walking through something devastating, I wanted to rescue. I offered to spend time with the friend, though I’m not sure that will ever happen. (Why would a high school student want to talk to me, a stranger?) As I thought about it further, I realized how little margin I had to counsel someone.

In times like these, I wish I had unlimited time and heart space to hug everyone I know, walk through every pain alongside. But I can’t. I’m not God. I can’t be everywhere at once. And if I spend-spend-spend my energy on everyone, those closest to me suffer.

There will always be tension on this earth, and trying to decide who gets what part of me is one of those tensions. I’m thankful for Jesus’ rough model. He loved the crowds, spoke to them, instructing many. But he had a smaller subset He poured into, maybe fifty or so. He reserved His more intimate time with twelve, then His deepest time with three. And of course, His time with God (the One) trumped all else.

I’ve heard that we only have capacity to be acquaintances with 150 people. In this crazy Facebook age, that number has exponentialed, but our capacity remains the same. No wonder we’re harried. No wonder I fret over forgetting a friend when I’m inviting folks to an event. No wonder we feel stretched beyond measure.

All I can do in this conundrum is refocus on Jesus’ method: choose the One. When I’m walking closely with God, my ear bent to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit, I know exactly who to choose, when to retreat, and when to spend myself. Instead of worrying about how to order my relationships, categorizing them (are they one of the twelve? The crowd?), and wondering if I have enough to give, I simply await my instructions for this day, with the people God has placed right smack dab in front of me.
Recently? My new friend who I met at a conference this year are having breakfast. I am also choosing my friend Kimberly who prays-prays-prays like a wonderwoman. We’re meeting at the park to pray. And it’s my kids who seem to need me far more than when they were toddlers. Teens can be entirely needy! And it’s my husband who worries about my somber mood of late and cheers me up. It’s those folks. And that’s enough. My heart can enlarge for them.

I can choose the One, and that One will order my relationships.

What about you? Do you ever get harried by too many relationships? Ever feel spread too thin? How have you chosen the One?

The post Choose the one appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

You see, God has shown me something way down deep. I ache and writhe when I see injustice. I simply cannot handle it. It’s even worse when I see the church perpetrating it. When I see injustice where a powerful person perpetrates against the weak, I’m back in the schoolyard, wanting to duke it out with the bully.

Problem is, when you duke it out, you get hurt.

Which brings me to 42′s message. Jackie Robinson learned to have dignity. He might not have even asked to be a hero, but by stepping out onto the field, he essentially stood up to millions of bullies, daring for the right to be seen as a human being. And as he did so, he plowed ground for racial reconciliation, a kinder nation, and civil rights.

I believe God is asking me to (in my own small space here) to stand up, to simply walk out onto the field, and be willing to take the flak for those who often don’t have a voice: sexual abuse victims. I have been maligned in doing so (on a small scale). And it has hurt. I sense it will get worse.

Why? Because Satan loves sexual abuse. And he loves the pain and bewilderment that comes from it. He loves the chaos and shame and dirtiness victims feel. He loves to trap perpetrators in their sin, helping them believe the lie that they will always be perpetrators. So those who stand up for victims will be targets.

On one hand, this scares me. On another, it emboldens me.

So I ask for your prayers. I am not a brave person by nature. I prefer calm to chaos, harmony to discord. But I believe God has called me to put on my uniform and step out onto the field, come what may, whatever that might look like. I do it because He has so beautifully restored me, rescuing me from Satan’s diabolical plans, and I want to serve (in a small way) as a midwife for other victims who need that restoration. I want to dignify them, give them a voice, or even write the words they feel but cannot say quite yet.

I may not punch a bully with my fists (I’m too weak), but I can defend those who have been violated simply by walking out onto the field and being a representation of redemption–living proof that you can have an incredibly joyful life even after awful devastation.

The post I’m stepping out onto the field for sexual abuse victims appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I get a lot of emails asking perplexing, painful, amazing questions. Today I’m going to attempt to answer (if there is such a thing as a “correct” answer) a question I’ve wrestled with for years. See if you relate to Amy’s dilemma.

Hi Mary,

Thank you for your blog. I am new reader but have enjoyed reading what you share.

It is quite unlike me to send an email like this. But here it goes . . . as I know you have heard many times I resonate with much you have shared. I am not healed but am healing. I think I will always be. I have a childhood of abuse. I survived by dissociating and now I have to untangle that dissociation. I hope that makes sense. I have a good solid counselor who I am grateful for.

I know Jesus as my savior. I do not doubt my salvation. I believe his word to be true. But I am in a battle. It is a battle that is draining any hope I have. I know you have mentioned in your writing that you do not understand why God allowed your abuse to occur. With my father and step mother I had to pretend that they were good parents – I had to attend to their needs – all the while my father was abusing me. If I did not “pretend” they were good parents then I was not being a good Christian – then I had no value. My value came in being submissive to what they told me to feel, think, do, and put up with.

I struggle now with feeling like I have to pretend God is good even though there are all these things in my life that are not good and point to God being capricious.

I know the theological answers given – free will of man, for His glory, make us more like Him, and He is/was with you in the pain. I struggle though because if I am honest it all feels like rationalization for God being God. And I can’t do it. In church, we sing songs of His protection – of us being safe in His arms – and I struggle. I have heard people say things like “if you had not gone through trauma you would see things differently.” But the truth is I did go through trauma – that is my reality.

I want to trust him. I want to surrender to Him in the moments of my life. But I can’t. I am afraid. I cannot make simple answers out for things and I cannot pretend He is with me. I feel less than those who can put everything into neat answers and I feel anger. I never want to give simple answers – to say things like “when you are more spiritually mature you will understand this.” I know how it has hurt me and I do not want to do it to anyone else. So this has rambled much more than I intended – I’m sorry.

I really wanted to know how you are able to hold those two realities in your hands – that you do not understand why your abuse was allowed and that God is good. If you have time to answer, thank you. But if you do not, I understand.

Amy

Amy,

I so resonate with your questions, and I applaud you for asking them and not being satisfied with cliche and pat answers. I wish I had some perfect i satisfactory conclusion to offer you, but I can say this: you are not alone in what you ask.

Many people struggle with looking over the evil in the world, particularly the evil perpetrated against them, and wonder how a good God would let that happen. Looking back on my own childhood, particularly the sexual abuse by the neighborhood boys, I can’t fathom why God wouldn’t have stepped in. Is He weak? Did He not care? Was I expendable?

I consider my own children. If I knew someone was hurting them, rest assured I would DO SOMETHING to protect them. So if I’m a relatively good parent and I would rescue, why would God the perfect Parent choose NOT to rescue me?

Most people feel it sacrilegious to voice such questions, as if God would be angry for us putting words to what we feel way deep inside. The truth is, He knows our questions and quandaries already. So why not share them with Him? I let out many of my questions in the memoir, Thin Places.

When I get to the place of despair in these questions, I remember that Jesus is God’s beauty in the flesh, that He took on those awful sexual sins perpetrated against me on the cross. He bore every. single. sin. It was wholly unfair, particularly since He did not in any way deserve to receive those sins. When the questions holler louder than God’s goodness, I try to picture Jesus on that cross, bearing the weight for my sin, your sin, everyone’s sin.

This is a fallen world with fallen people messing with each other, inflicting awful pain. And until I realize that I am part of the problem, that I am a sinner who also perpetrates, it’s easy for me to point to the other sin calling it uncalled for, yet glossing over my own.

I can say that God used the things in my life I’d rather not have happened to create deep empathy in me. Sometimes people ask me how they can be close to Jesus like I am (though honestly, I feel small in this area). The answer is that He and I have walked through so much together, and He has healed me of multitudes of wounds. In that place of deprivation, I’ve become a more loving, forgiving person.

I honestly wonder if I would’ve reached for Him had I not experienced what I did. Would I have longed for a daddy had my earthly father not died? Would I have an insatiable need for feeling clean had I not been violated? I don’t know. I’m pretty stubborn, and I love control.

To be honest, there are many times I would rather that God would let me be, stop sending trials my way, and let me experience abundant circumstances. But then I look back on my Christian life and see where I grew the most. It was through the awful trials. I wrote a book about that, Everything, where I talk frankly about our family’s traumatic time in France and how we survived in the aftermath.

I also have to remember that this world we live in is fading away. God does see the pain I’ve walked through. He will reward me for faithful service despite my limitations. He will bring complete and total healing on the other side. I don’t live for the wholeness now 0r even demand it. I wait on tiptoes for the wholeness that will come.

But you’re right. Saying, “I serve a good God,” is difficult when you see the abuse of the past. I’m sorry you walked through that. And I don’t know why you had to walk through all that. It is hard to trust God in that instance because He can seem arbitrary and capricious.

Perhaps that’s what trust and faith are all about–where we acknowledge our perplexities, let them stay in tension, and choose to risk in faith anyway. I know for me, I’m happiest when I don’t stay in that place of figuring things out, but when I lift my hands in surrender and honestly tell God, “I don’t get it.” A settled peace comes over me in that moment, something I can’t explain, where I realize again that He is God and I am not. He is sovereign and I am small.

I don’t expect this answer to clear up your wrestling, not by any shot, but I do hope you see that you’re not alone in wondering these things, and your questions don’t nullify your faith. You are normal. You are human. And you’ve been injured. May our great big God continue to heal you, help you to trust, and experience His goodness even right now.

Warmly,

Mary

What about you? What questions mess with you? How have you worked through them? How can God be good when such awful stuff happens?

The post How can God be good when all that awful stuff happened? appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

Sometimes my life is so full of people, I don’t have time to run back to my computer and share my report. Such has been my life of late. Recently I spent a day with a group of women for a women’s retreat, but how it came about surprises me still. A woman who wasn’t a writer found out I’d be speaking about writing and attended the publishing seminar, determined to ask me if I’d speak at her women’s retreat. Imagine her surprise when I sat directly across from her for lunch! I love how God threads people together like that.

So I spoke about freedom, about stories from my past, about God’s great reaching down to pluck me from the pain. And ladies resonated, praise Jesus. One so much so that she wanted to leave the retreat. (Insert ironic laughter here).

My story hit far too close to home. She later told me she felt like I shared her story as I spoke, and it wasn’t one she’d been able to own or heal from. Her words hushed as she talked, as if she’d get slapped if she raised her voice.

Darting eyes. Shame. Worry. Fear. I listened as she haunted out her story. I grew indignant at the injustices she’d faced, felt the holy anger of God.

An hour later, I saw a shy smile, an engagement that hadn’t been there before, a sly hint of freedom. I have hope that she will be wildly set free from the haunting. And I feel so small and privileged to be the impetus for God doing freedom work.

The day stretched long before me, no time for myself, but a lot of interaction. I fed off other people’s stories, digesting them, listening. When I spoke, I expended myself in a great exhale, so that by the time I got home, the kids could see I was crazy-tired.

I spoke again a few days later, expending myself, encouraging, wooing. The audience felt asleep, lethargic, as if I had to become a hyperactive cheerleader to open their eyes and hearts. Thankfully, I met a dear speaker, older than me, who acted as a friend, helping me with my table and giving me a heaping dose of encouragement. Words like, “That was exactly the message our girls needed to hear,” and “I applaud you for all the books you’ve written.” I love it that God knows our limitations and needs. He saw my fatigue, my weariness in speaking to a tired group, and sent me my own cheerleader.

Which was just what I needed knowing what I would face later.

A letter in the mail, not from a person per se, but a publishing entity, saying my less-than-a-year-ago book would soon be out of print. I could purchase the rest of the doomed copies at a discount and save them from the furnace. (Yes, it’s called remaindering. Any books not sold end up in a fiery, hellish furnace). I moped the day, letting my worth be determined by words like failure, remaindering, horrible sales, and fiery furnace define me.

That evening, I didn’t share my woes with the eager-eyed writers at our monthly writers group. I put on my cheerleader hat again and taught about publishing our work, the process of it all. And I offered encouragement, but I left completely spent again, discouraged from the day. I came home to an email about how I charged too much to speak, which stung in its own way.

My children and husband cheered in their own sweet way, and then an email touched me, written by someone I’d never met. “Your words propel me forward through hope, but more, they make me feel. I need to feel. I want that I will some day have your quiet contentment and wholeness. That the rest of my life is not a shadow of shattered innocence, but a frame of constant becoming. Most days it seems impossible, but I hold on. Thank you, and thanks be to God.”

So maybe all that hard work isn’t for naught. Maybe all these spoken and written words sent out to the world mean something. Maybe it’s not a waste of my energy and time. Maybe just maybe God keeps me on this path as a word girl so others won’t feel alone, or that they’ll simply feel this life. Oh I hope so.

It’s in these times of exhale and fatigue that I’m grateful that Jesus is the living water, and I’m just an empty, sometimes cracked cup, upstretched, waiting for His filling. That’s my prayer for me as I spend myself further, and it’s certainly my prayer for you.

Have you ever felt so spent and dry that you nearly wilted? How did Jesus fill you back up again?

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In the aftermath of speaking, I often get sick. This happens a lot. I expend quite a bit of me when I speak, pouring heart and soul into my messages, then praying for people afterward. So I spent Monday resting.

One of the things I watched was a documentary about stress. I learned that stress grows the lower your economic status is. I saw how it caused the casing of our DNA to deteriorate.

Trauma, especially of the childhood variety, accounted for many stress-related diseases in adulthood. One study showed how stress even caused problems in people if their mothers were under stress during pregnancy. By about three-quarters of the way through the documentary, I wanted to shout, “Well, it’s not fair! What if you’re poor? Or your mom had stress? Or you experienced trauma? Were you doomed to stress related illness?”

But then, alas, some light. They learned, too, that the protective covering over our DNA, which naturally ebbs when we age but deteriorates rapidly from stress, can actually be rebuilt.

The missing ingredient? Community.

If people were on a lower economic strata, but had great relationships, the damage from stress was reversed. If folks who had trauma in their past, but connected with others, they emerged healthy.

What an amazing proof of God’s truth! People wound us. But people also heal us. And by withdrawing from others in a mode of self-protection, we cut off the very means to make us better.

I wrote an entire book about this called The Wall Around Your Heart. It’s up on Amazon now (yay!) and will release in October. I wrote it for those of you who are so burned by others that you’ve walled off your heart. It’s safe, but boy is it lonely. And bitter. Don’t settle for a detached life.

How about you? How has community salved and rejuvenated you after a bout of stress? Share your story in the comments below.

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One of the things I learned from Malcolm Gladwell’s The Tipping Point is that I am a connector. (You can check and see if you are one by clicking here). I gain great satisfaction in connecting people together, and I love to see how God beautifully weaves our stories together.Recently I experienced this on quite a sweeping scale.

It started with a tweet from someone I didn’t recognize. He said he had a ten-minute slot for me to interview worship leader, Kari Jobe, for my blog. She had a song featured in a movie about sex trafficking in India.

His next tweet helped clarify who he was. “P.S. It’s Michael, the French press guy from D-Now.” Ah yes! Years ago as a college student, he had led my son’s group at our house during a discipleship weekend. We introduced him to the French press, and he found out then I was a published writer. Must’ve been five years since I’d last heard from him. Turns out, he’s married since then and landed a job at a prestigious PR firm.

Knowing my daughter and her friends adored Kari Jobe, and my passion for helping sex trafficked victims, I said yes. I listened to Kari’s song, watched the trailer for the upcoming movie, and marveled again at how God wove things together. The movie, set in India, captured my heart, as did my pre-boyfriend Patrick weeks before he left for Calcutta, India for three months. That country marks the beginning of our relationship, a significant turning point in Patrick’s walk with Jesus, and our collective hearts for the people of this world who suffer.

I called Sophie and told her I’d be chatting on the phone with Kari, and asked her if she had any questions she’d like me to ask. She did.

So when I talked to Kari, I let her know about all our little connections, that my daughter saw her at Passion that year, that my husband had been in India a significant amount of time, and that I sometimes wrote books and blogs about recovering from sexual abuse.

She told me about her heart for victims, how she learned about the problem through Christine Caine who started a ministry, the A21 Campaign. I told her about the book I wrote last month, a book that poured out of me like water, to help victims of sexual abuse. She offered to send the book to Christine—a winsome surprise.

I asked her Sophie’s questions and we said our goodbyes. But as I hung up the phone, I realized afresh just how connected we all, how God saw fit to orchestrate this ten-minute phone call through a college leader, a trip to India, a heart to heal abuse victims and a famous worship leader.

When I fret about getting older and see those crazy wrinkles around my eyes, I realize that being a connector is what brings the deepest joy.

I will grow wiser, but I’ll also grow more connected. I’ll have more opportunities to introduce folks to each other. I’ll have more stories like this one, woven from the fabric of acquaintances and circumstances.

I imagine in heaven we’ll see ten thousand stories like this, how God seamed random encounters into holy coincidences, all for the sake of His plan for folks.

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I’m not sure why, but I’ve been on the brink of tears lately—most likely because of my travel schedule and how much I feel I’m giving out. Recently I spent time with a church in the heart of the nation, an avowed farming community whose spring fields boasted nubile green wheat shoots.

Two women picked me up and drove me to the venue—a two-hour drive—and drove me back to the airport. I had a chance to mine their stories, offer pieces of my own. And in between airport taxis, I shared twice at the church, again amazed that when I tell my story, others share their own. This is humbling.

These sweet farmwomen are matter of fact, put together, connected to the earth and their families in a way I admire and long for. And yet, one by one, they whispered stories to me, of abuse, of pain, of marriage hardship. I prayed for one woman, tears spilling from both of us. Sometimes life is downright painful, and the only thing we can do is share our stories, find common ground, and pray through the pain.

I didn’t take a break upon coming home. I was supposed to, but disobeyed myself, which left me feeling overly spent, fully overwhelmed, and needy. I worked a fourteen-hour day and felt l like a zombie in the aftermath. And yet, God—who sees even the smallest things in my life—blessed me with twin kindness bombs right when the tears threatened to overtake.

From my daughter Sophie: Dear Mom, have a great day! Love, Sophie.

And then four minutes later from Julia: Have a good day, mom.

Their words were little kindness bombs dropped into my stressful, sad, teary day.

When I get like this, overwhelmed by duties and people’s needs, I worry about how I’m doing as a mom and wife. I know my family needs me to choose them, but they are often the ones I choose next to last (with me being the very last). We can be overrun by people so much so that the significant relationships in our lives suffer.

So I pray.

Jesus, I pray for me right now—me who feels unfilled and empty (and I echo this prayer for those reading this who feel the exact same way). When we get this way, we see people as a drain, not an opportunity. Help us reshift our hearts by first receiving Your fountain of living water. We are parched and needy, and You are the only One who can fill us to overflowing so Your love will pour into our family’s lives. We thank You in advance for choosing to fill us to the brim and more. Please, Jesus, help us to engage today, but not until we’ve engaged You and received Your strength. Amen.

Challenge to the uncaged:Why not send a kindness bomb today? Lob away! Bless! Change a friend’s overwhelmed day!

Question: When have you been in dire need of a kindness bomb?

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In this attempt to simplify and hone, God has been very clear with me. He has practically hollered His message to me through several different people in my life in very specific ways. It’s time to slow down. To rest. To pray. To think. To recapture the energy I need for the next season of harvest in my life.

It reminds me of mile 11 at the half marathon I ran (er limped?) last December. Although I swore I would NOT walk, by mile eleven, my back started hurting really bad. I hadn’t anticipated that. I expected legs, knees, lungs, blisters. I had never run eleven miles in my life, so getting there, I had no frame of reference or warning that my back would scream at me.

So I walked. (sigh). Gave my ol’ back a break. But then I thought, I’d like to run the end of this race. I’d like to finish strong. And that’s when a magical song appeared on my ipod. It’s not a Jesus song, but a popular one with a raucous beat. And when it came on, off I ran. I actually pepped up, smiled, and ran like a fool. Don’t judge me, but this is the song.

I sprinted to the finish line.

I just needed a song.

So while I limp through this aspect of my life, disappointed yet hopeful, beaten down but not destroyed, small yet with a big God residing within, frail and needy, I am asking God for a song at mile 11.

And while I do that, I will ask for one for you too.

Dear Jesus, we’re limping. We’re tired. Life has beaten us down. The road feels way too long and our wherewithal is gone. We need a song, something to ignite us toward action. Something to inspire, to rouse, to regenerate. Would You be so kind as to give each and every one of us a song even this week? We need a holy beat, a melody that sparks, a hope to run to. Amen.

Has God ever given you a song? When? What happened?

The post I need a song appeared first on Mary DeMuth.

I wondered if the homeowner was confused. Or maybe they put one sign up, only to have their candidate friend stop by and ask them to please put up his. Or maybe the two candidates represented two different sets of opinions in the household. Or maybe they didn’t really care who won and were just being nice to the sign people.

The message was confusion. Certainly not clarity or confidence.

And therein came the rub. I’ve been working on simplifying my message, website and brand. I’ve worked a long time to get to where I am today, but I have more work to do. (Hint: change is in the air.) It’s not the work of addition, but subtraction. It’s the work of branding, that difficult work that takes a lot of silence, prayer, input, and more thinking. Last summer, I sensed the Lord say to me, “Choose small; tend large.” That’s been my theme for the year, and I even have that slogan hanging above my computer.

Truth: It takes work to remove one sign. Why? Because it means you are letting go of good for the sake of the very best. But it’s never easy to let go of good things. And there’s a huge amount of fear involved in that.

Fear makes me grab at things, fret, and make rash decisions, putting far more signs in my yard because I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll fail. Oswald Chambers cautions, “We mistake panic for inspiration.”

Panic makes for poor branding. (Click to tweet this). Panic looks like desperation, not intentionality.

So what are we to do? Look at the yard of your ministry or business. Ask yourself:

• How many signs are there?
• How many messages are you advocating?
• If a newbie came to your website, would they immediately know what you are about, and what kind of benefit they would receive? If not, you need to hurl some signs.

There is power in keeping it it simple. Let go of your branding ADD just for this moment. Ask your tribe, “What is my one thing?” or “What one thing do I offer (usually) to my readers/listeners?” Then heed their feedback.

Otherwise you’ll end up with a hoard of signs in your yard, and confusion will reign.

There is power in focus. There is success in honing. (Click to tweet this.)

Wednesday, I had the privilege of sharing just a snippet of this journey with an author friend. She reaffirmed the direction and the power of focus. Her prayer moved me, and her heart of wisdom confirmed what signs I’m pulling down. All that to say, this search for clarity of brand is a spiritual exercise, accomplished through silence, prayer, and good community.

What about you? What signs are in your yard? Which ones need to come down? What prevents you from focusing? Can a brand be several competing ideas?

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Over 47 Christian leaders have recommended the book, including me. Here is my endorsement for “God’s Favorite Place on Earth.”
“God’s Favorite Place on Earth realigned my heart toward Jesus and His mysterious, confounding, surprising, beautiful ways. It’s not often I learn something new when reading a book, but Frank Viola’s sharp storytelling and insightful interpretation made me hunger for more of the real Jesus. Pick up this book if you need a reversal in your Christian life; it will not disappoint.”

The premise of the book is simple and 100% Biblical: when Jesus was on the earth, He was rejected everywhere He went . . . from Bethlehem, to Nazareth, to Jerusalem. The only exception was the little village of Bethany.

The curtain opens with Lazarus, who is now ready to die, telling the incomparable story of Jesus’ interactions with him, Martha, and Mary. God’s Favorite Place on Earth blends drama, devotion, biblical narrative, and first-century history to create a riveting book that you’ll find difficult to put down. Within each narrative, the common struggles Christians face are addressed and answered.

Go to GodsFavoritePlace.com to claim your 25 FREE GIFTS, read a Sampler of the book, and watch the gripping video trailer.

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