A cluttered life leads to a cluttered heart.

And clutter chokes out the joy and peace that we are meant to have.

The Bible talks about this a lot, but it’s common sense. You don’t have to believe in Jesus, or anything really, to know this.

So why do we worship at the altar of busy?

It would be really easy to just say “it’s in our nature.” But I want better for me. And if I read the Bible and actually believe what it says, I find out God wants better for me too.

The problem I keep struggling with is kind of a chicken and egg thing. I know better is out there, but somehow I can’t seem to make the time to make the time. I’m too busy to slow down.

I‘m too frazzled to find peace.

The definition of insanity is continuing to do the same thing over and over and expecting different results. The same thing, for me, for now, is clearly not working.

I’m not sleeping well (it’s 2AM as I’m writing this). I’m not eating all that well (because I die a little inside when I think of Wal-Mart).

Masha had her tonsils out last week (ouch). Lena has show choir rehearsals and previews and competitions (they won Grand Champion on Saturday!).

Mark and I have meetings, and ministry, and coffee with old friends, and coffee with new friends, and coffee at home (OK, so coffee hasn’t suffered).

Every week, every day, I say it’s time to do something different, and then busy gets in the way and then the day is gone. And it looked exactly like the one before it.

I beat myself up for what I didn’t get done and for what I wasted time on.

I poke myself when I mess up.

It’s time for some grace.

My friend Joseph released a devotional last Friday (and he’s offering seven free bonus gifts with it this week, too!).

It’s about finding grace and hope. And with grace and hope comes peace.

Ever since I saw an early draft last summer, his words have danced around the walls of my heart, inviting me out. Inviting me to find peace. To make changes. To know grace. To lead me home.

Maybe it’s time to let those words sink into cultivated soil rather than falling among the thorns of my cluttered life.

So what’s the secret??

I’m a writer. I can write a really great search-optimized titles like “Seven Ways to Clear a Cluttered Heart” or “The Obvious Secret To Peace You Might Never Imagine.” I can probably even write 500 words of BS with some made-up answer.

But really, folks, I don’t have it all figured out.

If there’s a secret, I haven’t imagined it yet. Or at least I haven’t let go of the garbage that’s cluttering my life enough to see it. (yes, that was meant to be ironic…or whatever.)

So the simple secret, I guess, is to just let go of some of the clutter.

To focus on what’s important…the hearts of my familiy (and their bellies). the word of God. Rest.

And to let the rest of it go.

Simple, right?

Simple, but oh, so hard.

What’s cluttering up your life? Leave a comment…

Tim Gallen is a writer on a journey of recovery, rediscovery, and irreverence. He appreciates a good laugh, a good beer, and the Oxford comma. Read his musings at his blog, The Daily Gallen or follow him on Twitter @tim_gallen.

Ask 10 writers  the best way to write, and you’ll likely receive 11 different answers.

But they’d all be wrong.

Because there’s only one way to write.

One word at a time.

Whether large or small. Long or short. Simple or superfluous.

The only way to write is one word at a time.

I’ve always been a writer.

That is to say, I always aspired to be a writer.

Instead of writing, I dreamed about writing. I thought about writing. I talked about writing.

The one thing I never did, however, was write.

By failing to write, I lost control of my direction. I lost control of my life. I began to float. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Go to bed. And do it again. Like a hamster on its wheel and in its cage, I moved and existed, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t living.

Losing control of our lives makes it easy for fear to worm its way into our hearts and minds. When fear rules us, we resign ourselves to reacting to the world rather than proactively engaging it.

Like a journey of a thousand steps, my recovery began with one step. Actually, more like one word. Followed by another. And another. And another.

Writing is a lot like life. You can’t do it in your head. Sure, you can dwell on ideas, and think on thoughts. You can craft scenes and phrases and stanzas in your mind, but until you get out of your mind and set down those ideas on paper or on screen, you’re not writing.

The same goes for life. You can plan it, you can think about it. Heck, you can even visualize it. But until you get out of your head to fully embrace and engage the present moment, you’re not living.

For me, writing is life. And there’s only one way to approach it.

One word at a time.

What single step can you take toward your dream? Leave a comment…

I like to sleep. I have structured my life, including my job, around my desire to wear big-girl shoes as infrequently as  possible.

So I like comfortable. I like cozy.

I like easy.

But really, easy isn’t really a good thing for me.

So tomorrow morning, I’m hopping on a plane at the god-forsaken time of 7AM to meet up with a team of folks that are ready to throw off “easy” too.

We’re headed to Guatemala to let our hearts be broken for people the world has discarded.

I’m getting off my couch for a little while. But you don’t have to leave yours.

Where do you come in?

Four simple steps:

Pray. Encourage. Share. Go.

Seriously…this isn’t about me going to Guatemala. It’s about sharing the stories of the people I encounter. Putting faces and names to the abstract ideas of poverty and hunger and pain.

It’s about demonstrating how each of us can share our gifts to leave the world a better than we found it.

Pray

• Pray for our team to remember this trip is not about us, it’s about Jesus.
• Pray for the children we will comfort and the families we will feed.
• Pray for our leaders to teach us ways to serve as Jesus served and to love as Jesus loved.
• Pray for others to hear our stories and be inspired, too.

Encourage

We will be experiencing heartbreaking realities of poverty and hardship, and I’ll need constant encouragement. And nothing encourages me more than knowing that you guys are here.

Join my list to get new posts in your inbox. Then each day, click on “Leave a comment…” at the bottom of the message and, well, leave comments. 

Share

Tell someone about Guatemala. Share these stories on Facebook and Twitter (there’s a link at the bottom of every post) or with your family and friends.

In fact, you can tweet this post to your followers just by clicking here.

Help inspire others to make a difference.

Go

Consider participating in a mission trip of your own.

If you don’t know where to start, Adventures in Missions offers trips (both in the US and abroad) for all age groups. Many local churches and humanitarian groups organize trips, too.

Pray about how God wants to use you to make a difference, ask him to show you the right opportunity, and trust him to equip you.

“When we encounter the needs of the world…we realize we can be part of something more…”
—Jeff Goins, Wrecked

If you change one thing about the world, what would you change? Leave a comment…

This is a guest post from Barry Kerzner. Barry shares experience, strength, and hope at his blog, It’s your Awesome. He writes about various recovery issues, and chasing your dreams because you do deserve to succeed! He also creates “Photoart” and you can visit his Portfolio here. You can also follow him on Twitter @itsyourawesome.

The best thing about recovery is that it works when you work at it.

It really doesn’t matter what you are recovering from. (If you live with someone in recovery, if you love someone in recovery, then you are in recovery too!)

Alcohol and/or substance abuse, gambling, physical abuse, mental abuse, divorce, serious illness, co-dependency; honestly, it doesn’t matter.

Recovery is often a long, and mostly difficult process, filled with challenges.

Challenges require effort. What makes our accomplishments so satisfying to us are the obstacles we overcome.

*Photo Credit: “Brooklyn Bridge” by Barry Kerzner Image is ©Kerzner 2004

It’s Really A Bridge

Like any bridge, recovery is made up of many cables, all working together, and each dependent on the others to give strength to the whole.

There are broken and damaged relationships, lost opportunities, old playmates and playgrounds, crazy sleep habits and patterns. There is apprehension. There is a lack of trust in yourself, and others. There is a sense of what has been lost and “what could have been.” There is an overriding sense of caution as we learn and relearn how to conduct various aspects of our daily lives. And where would our daily lives be without all the drama?

But wait: Aren’t those all negatives?

You cannot go back and relive or undo the past. Much as we would like, that just isn’t not an option.

It is said, “Experience is the best teacher.” The past is our experience. Recovery is not about undoing or trying to change the past. It is about learning from the past. Each one of us has a treasure trove of lessons available to us in our past experiences.

Learning is a positive thing. When we repurpose things, we make them better. Recovery is about repurposing our lives. Each new day gives us a chance to not make the same mistakes and poor choices we have made in the past. This very action frees us from the bondage of the past, and the damage we left behind.

The Common Thread Is You

To make better choices now, healthy choices, we have to be our best advocate. The biggest catalyst in our recovery is what we tell ourselves. The first voice that reaches our ears is our own.

And what a powerful voice it is!

We cannot give power to the negative voices that want us to go backward. Those voices would still have us in our old state.

We must tell ourselves that we have worth. We must tell ourselves that we deserve a happy, healthy life. We do tell ourselves that we will succeed. We should be doing this every day. If we do not believe in us, who will? Make your recovery a strong bridge from your past to your future.

So: Be careful what you say, because YOU are listening.

These are the voyages of the Family Niles….

Its permanent mission: to explore strange new teenagers; to seek out new life and new ways of living; to boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before. (cue Star Trek theme song…)

OK, so that might be a little bit extreme (and a little lame), but yeah. Life is happening, people. My head is spinning.

We’re stepping into a season where God is proving his faithfulness and where we’ll need to rely on that more than ever. Changes are facing us on every front. And while all of them will ultimately end well, managing them and finding the new harmony are going to take a lot of attention.

Some of these changes relate to some great opportunities for my dream, and they are going to take a lot of focus.

Some of them have to do with family schedule and focus, which always must be top priority.

And…I leave for Guatemala on Saturday morning!

As I’m starting a week that’s going to be insanely busy, I caught a post from my friend and mentor Jeff Goins about the importance of making space for creativity to happen. He reminded me that busy is not a good problem to have.

Mental clutter blocks creativity. (click here to tweet that.)

Because busy is bad, I’m going to be making some changes to the blog for the next month or so:

• You’ll be seeing a few more guest posts from friends that I respect and admire (starting with a great one tomorrow).
• I’ll be posting even more randomly…some more short posts, maybe sharing some photos, or poems, or just amusing thoughts.
• Every now and then, I’ll be putting together a newsletter with sneak peaks into what’s coming up.

I’m also ramping up to release an short Ebook in the spring, so I’ll be sharing little bits and pieces as that comes together.

All that to say, if you’re not subscribed to receive updates via email, I really would recommend it. It’s super-easy, you won’t miss anything, AND you’ll also get a free copy of my first eBook about perseverence as you chase a dream of your own (and about how important it is to take care of yourself when you hit the wall).

Join my email list here:

Sundi Jo is a writer, speaker, and small business owner. She is the author of the free eBook, Step Away from that Diet, sharing tips from her 145 lb. weight loss. You can easily find her writing at the local coffee shop in a pair of jeans and flip-flops. Find Sundi Jo on Facebook or Twitter (@sundijo).

Peer pressure is at an all time high these days.

I can’t prove it, but I feel it in my bones. Despite losing 145 pounds, I still fight it every day.

Turn the TV on and you’ll see sex everywhere. Skinny chicks strut through every commercial. If they’re not skinny, then they’re selling a weight loss program.

There is a new diet peering around every corner.

“Drink this and lose that.”
“Take this pill and you’re life will change forever.”
“Eat bread and you may die.”

(Okay, I might have slightly exaggerated on that last one, but you get the point.)

The world strives for perfection. We’re supposed to do the same, right?

We’re missing the key ingredient to believing the truth: being in line with the One who created us.

You are what you think

Dr. Rita Hancock, author of the life-changing book, Radical Well-being: A biblical guide to overcoming pain, illness, and addictions, says,

“Thinking you’re fat eventually makes you become fat. Your actions affect your attitudes, and your attitudes affect your actions. Watch what you think because it will affect what you do.”

There is so much truth to this statement it’s worth reading again.

If you believe you’re fat, then you will eventually be fat.

This saddens my heart. I think of all the young women and men under so much pressure to fit inside a perfect world that how they view themselves is transformed by what strangers on the TV tell them.

You must know who you truly are

When I spent a year at a discipleship program for women, my mentor would often require us to stand in front of the mirror and repeat out loud who we were in Christ.

I felt like an idiot.

Picture this for a second: I was standing in front a mirror saying things like,

I am God’s child.
I have been chosen by God and adopted as his child.
I have been redeemed and forgiven of all my sins.
I am free from condemnation.

But after I took the focus off myself and stopped thinking about what others would say if they saw me, the truth really started to sink in.

The more I said it, the more I believed it.

Give it a shot. Stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself who you are in Christ.

Who cares what other people think. Just do it. It’s freeing, truly.

You are accepted where you are

Don’t take this statement the wrong way. If you are significantly overweight, that’s not okay. God wants better for you.

Regardless of your decisions, however, the God that created you and knows the exact numbers of hairs on your head (even the gray ones) loves you right where you are – in the midst of your brokenness.

Because of that, he wants to love you through your current situation. Ask him to show you how to move forward without the shame and condemnation that comes with the lies of this world.

Remind yourself again who you truly are, not who you believe you are.

This moment you’re in right now is the time to move forward. Not yesterday, not tomorrow, but right now.

Every new breath is a second chance. Will you take the chance?

Where can you start believing the truth instead of the world? Leave a comment…

*Photo credit: tq2cute (Creative Commons)

Today, I’m visiting the Adventures in Missions offices in Gainesville, Georgia to finally meet the amazing marketing team that I serve with, and I’m also virtually visiting while my friend Jim Woods of UnknownJim.com anticipates the arrival of his new baby boy!

My post for Jim is called One Dreamer’s Map to the Promised Land:

Once upon a time, Christine lived a nice normal busy life. Great career, family, two cars and a house. Living the dream.

Except the dream was a nightmare. Not the “chased by monsters” kind, but the “constant dread of the insignificant” kind.

Rodent of your choice running for the ridiculous disappearing reward of choice.

(click here to read the rest)

I hear about them from bloggers I admire and I fear the day a hater shows up in my comments.

I hear about them from my kids and it leaps to a whole new level. My heart breaks. I want to punch them in the face.

Haters are the black cloud in a clear blue sky. They will bitch and whine about anything. Everything.

“I wanted a yellow Ferrari, not a red one. You suck.”

They hide behind clever pseudonyms and fake facebook accounts; they strike and slither away into deep, dark holes.

They are no one.

The Ugly Truth

I’m a glass half full of scorpions kind of girl. Keeping a positive attitude? Tough stuff. Especially around the kids, and especially in my writing, I work at the positive tone.

But inside, the voice that mocks me is mine.

I am my own worst hater.

I am the one asking, “Who are you to change the world?”

I am the one thinking, “You pretend you’re good, but you’re not. The people reading and encouraging you? They’re just really nice people. But they lie.”

It’s hard to ignore that hater.

The Beautiful Reality

I’m not alone.

Ask a room full of dreamers about their inner voices? Surprise! They all say the same things.

Our inner haters aren’t very creative. So why give them power?

If the haters in our heads all use the same talking points–if each one of us has that in common–we can band together against them.

Together, we can do what alone is too hard. Too scary. Too intimidating.

We can punch our inner haters in the face.

A tribe full of dreamers is an amazing, uplifting thing. Let’s banish the haters in our own heads. Let’s punch them in the face and get on with chasing our dreams.

What does your inner hater tell you? Leave a comment…

*Photo Credit Andrius Petrucenia (Creative Commons)

When I was a kid, I invested hours circling items that I wanted.

The catalog was as big as a phone book and showed a picture of every thing that had ever been made. If it existed, it was available in that catalog. And I circled it.

My family went to church, and I knew Christmas was about Jesus’ birthday.  But it was also about the stuff.  Sneaking down to get my stocking before anyone else was up.  Finding millions of gifts piled under the tree.  Peeking at the one gift that couldn’t be wrapped…the one Dad stayed up all night to assemble.

I didn’t say a lot of thank-you’s to my parents for all the stuff.

As a teen, Christmas became a lot of work.

Singing in the Youth Choir, robing up for acolyte duty, helping the old people.  Advent services.  Sunday Services.  Four Christmas Eve services.  Christmas Morning service.  With the church in our backyard, we worked all of them.

I didn’t hear a lot of thank-you’s from God for all the chipping in.

After I moved out on my own, Christmas changed again.

I broke up with God, and His birthday struck me as an annoyance.  A time to juggle travel and visits to family for the purpose of fighting with them.  They hated whatever boyfriend I brought home (in hindsight, they weren’t exactly wrong).  I hated having to go to every church service offered when I figured it was all a lie.

I didn’t see a lot of reason to thank God for the mess my life was in.

When I grew up a little more, it occurred to me that I might have been, well, not right about a few things.

Life was a little less simple than I wanted it to be.  And I was a little less able to have it all figured out on my own all the time.  An amazing man introduced me to a God that was a lot different from any version of him I had known about.  A God that was patient.  Unconditional.  Forgiving.  Merciful.  One whose birthday party might be worth attending.

I started to thank Him for the good things in my life.

As I gingerly removed each brick from the wall around my heart, God peeked over the edge at me.  He passed me bits of grace through the gaps.

I could only take so much, then.  But as I learned to receive it, to absorb it, to float in it, I was able to let it flow faster.  I began to lean on Him in the difficult times, and not just expect to get stuff wrapped in pretty paper with sparkling bows.  He taught me how to forgive others.  And myself.

I started to thank Him for the hard things through which we can grow.

And then He gave us two amazing, beautiful, scared teenaged girls.

Two girls who experienced so much more pain and loss in their childhood than I could have handled at twice their age.

There was no JCPenney catalog for them.  If they were lucky, there might be a shoebox from the other side of the world filled with dollar-store trinkets and maybe some socks.  Christmas meant something entirely different to them.

I started to thank Him for the lives that I could change for Him.  

Starting with mine.

Continuing with theirs.

This Christmas, our funny little family that God created in a way that I never could have planned…we are shopping and decorating and singing carols and watching The Grinch.

And we’re saying prayers and thanking God for entrusting us with two beautiful young women, and leaning on His wisdom to teach them how to love His way rather than ours.

They are adopted by us.

James 1:27 Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.

We are adopted by God.

Romans 8:15  So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when He adopted you as His own children. Now we call Him, “Abba, Father.”

Merry Christmas.

John 3:16 For God loved the world so much that He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.

Photo credit: Wishbook (Creative Commons)

I look into the eyes of the woman looking back into mine, and I wonder who she is and what makes her tick?

What gets her riled up?

(Yeah, I’m a little weird, I know. Just humor me, ok?)

What I mean is that every once in a while, I’m prompted to take stock of how I’m living. How well I’m using the gifts that I’ve been given. How well I’m making the world a better place. How well I’m doing with the opportunities that cross my path.

And then I think about how I measure “how well.” And then I get mad at myself.

Because you know what? I can’t say I’m doing enough. There’s always something more I could do.

It’s not always mine to do.

Recently, I found about a need. A pretty big need, in fact.

A friend is taking in two kids that have lived a harder life in their six short years than most of us will experience in our lifetimes.

My friend has never parented 6-year-olds before, so she doesn’t have neatly labelled boxes of hand-me-downs in her attic. She doesn’t have bunk beds. Or extra toys. Or coats and shoes in their sizes.

I wanted to give her all these things, but having never had 6-year-olds myself, I felt helpless. For a moment, I wished for my old job back so that I had piles of money so I could go buy stuff for her.

I got mad because I felt insufficient.

Then I thought “maybe my role here is to spread the word.” So I posted it on Facebook.

Then I got mad that people “like” stupid pictures of cats with hats, and share trite little sayings about Jesus and rants about the war on Christmas, but not one person stepped up to offer one piece of hand-me-down clothing.

I got mad that I couldn’t get others to meet my friend’s need.

But then I got a phone call from another friend who has been unemployed for a year, offering up some things her son had grown out of. And I thought of the hardships this friend has gone through in her life–unimaginable difficulties–and I saw God at work.

I saw one person truly understanding the broken heart of another.

And I saw how my role wasn’t to meet the need myself, or to get lots of people involved, but simply to connect one brokenhearted person to another.

What didn’t feel like enough to me? It was enough for God.

So what riles up the woman in the mirror?

I get mad at “ordinary.”

I seethe at the status quo.

I find myself frustrated when I settle.

We are meant for more. But we’re not meant to be or do it all.

We are meant to live in community. To all be individual parts of a whole body, working together to help each other, to encourage, to inspire, to make this world a better place.

We each have a part, we each have a responsibility. And while each of us has a different role, it’s critical that we all step up. That we say “yes.” That we live out the love that’s been given to us.

So when I look in the mirror, I’ll still get riled up about not doing enough, but I’ll also try to remember that I’m not the only one in the world.

What gets you all riled up? Leave a comment…

*Photocredit: Lovecocozombie (Creative Commons)

Tim is a Fiction Friday author-in-arms, and has graciously offered to share his space over at The Daily Gallen with me today.  Click on over and check out my short story about Christmas Eve for a guy that thinks he has it all figured out…

Bad enough he had to go along with all of this to keep his mother quiet. Shopping. Spending money he didn’t have on gifts his family didn’t need to celebrate a birthday for a person who wasn’t what people thought and had been dead for two thousand years.

Billions of dollars changing hands.  Millions on decorations and chopping down trees, on plastic deer and lights.

One more day. Just get through one more day and the world will go back to normal.

Will it go back to normal for Blake?  Click here to read the whole story and find out.

***

If you’re visiting from Tim’s site, welcome!  I write mainly about adoption/orphancare issues and making a difference in the world.  For a little Friday fun, I share snippets of a fiction project I’m working on, too.

You can learn more about our adoption story here, or see a few other samples of my writing here.

Because I’m goin’ to Guatemala with Jeff Goins! (and 24 other super-awesome people).

I had bushy hair, and I was almost a full year younger than everyone else in my class. And when it came time for recess, I much preferred sitting against the brick wall with a book.

Good writers read a lot.

(OK, bad writers sometimes read a lot, too)

We read to be influenced, we read to be touched, we read to be entertained. We even read to learn what NOT to do.

So when people ask “What’s your favorite book?” I have a hard time answering.

But because it’s Fiction Friday, I thought I’d share some of my all-time favorites with you:

• Ender’s Game: Sci-fi for people who aren’t really into sci-fi. This is the story of a boy specifically bred to save humanity. The pressure of his role is high, but he’s still a kid, struggling to figure out who he is. Excellent characterization and story that just happens to be set in space.
• Lord of the Flies: Survivor without the production crews and medics. This might have been my first foray into the disturbing truth about human nature. (guess that explains a lot, eh?)
• Cold Mountain: I love this one for Frazier’s language, and because, despite my general distaste for historical fiction, I immediately connected with Ada and Inman and was captivated with a world so incredibly different from mine.
• Jonathan Livingston Seagull:  While I haven’t cracked this in 30 years (and honestly don’t even own a copy of it anymore–Christmas gift idea, people…), I remember a roadtrip when I read this cover to cover seven times. I think this is what sparked my passion to be awesome. Or maybe just gave me permission to be different.
• Watership Down: Another one that never gathered dust on my bookshelf. So many different levels to this story…from cute little talking bunnies to allegorical social commentary.

Of course, this list is far from complete. There are a million other amazing books that I have loved, and a million more coming that I will love.

And I’m incredibly thankful that someone smart invented a Kindle that is cheap and fits in my purse, so I can keep a massive pile of books with me at all times! Great Christmas gift idea for the readers on your list!

What are some of your all-time favorites?? Leave a comment…

(disclosure: the links above are affiliate links*)

You’ve been there before, right? That horrible tossing and turning? Too hot and too cold at the same time? Mind racing like Secretariat?

So I started trying to pick apart the reason I was awake — because it didn’t make sense. My brain was spinning, but over nothing. Not even over stupid things, but truly over nothing. Just spinning.

That’s when I remembered that all negative emotions — all stress, all anger, all discouragement, all jealousy, all pride —  boils down to fear.

I’ve talked about fear before…what a bully it is, how it takes the form of resistance, preventing us from accomplishing the things that we’re meant to do. My mind has learned a lot about how fear works and how to fight it. I’ve learned about how the amygdyla works. I’ve learned about remapping neural pathways.

But my heart still feels fear.

I’m afraid of a lot of things.

• Cockroaches
• Dead things
• Public embarrassment
• Doing a bad job
• Offending people
• Failing in my new life as a writer
• Succeeding as a writer
• Failing as a mother
• Failing as a wife
• Running out of money
• Running out of time
• Being too exhausted by stupid things to do the things that matter
• Deciding that the wrong things matter

The thing is, I’ve done or seen or touched or lived all of these things, and I’m still alive. So why am I still afraid?

Here’s the secret: It’s all a trick.

There is no reason to fear any of this stuff, it’s just a trick to keep me from moving forward. As long as I’m following God and listening to Him, there’s nothing to fear. Fear is just me getting in the way.

God doesn’t want us to be afraid. He repeats that a lot (because sometimes we’re a little dense). He wants to take our fear away; we just have to give it up.

And you conquer fear, what’s left is hope. (you can tweet that!)

Hope is really important. It’s so important that I wrote (and give away for free) a little manifesto to bring hope to the discouraged dreamer (Get it here).

Hope forms the foundation for our dreams. Hope propels us forward. Hope fuels us as we dream of making a difference in the world, of helping people, of leaving a legacy. When we’re driven by hope, we grow, we influence. We matter.

And hope is a choice.

Today — this hour, this moment — I choose hope.

What are you afraid of? Leave a comment…

Since Zach the Zombie made his debut last June, I’ve shared with y’all little glimpses into his world and his mind.

I added it up, and Zach has now made 18 appearances here. Each time he’s popped by, he’s shared little bits of himself. (yes, i did that. sorry. couldn’t help it.)

But those bits have been terribly random and out-of-order, so I thought I’d share an outline of the story as it stands right now. Yes, there are some really big gaps that I’ll be asking him to fill in.  Thanks for your grace!

History (posted 6 July)

It was no coincidence that the the rot began immediately after the sun stopped setting, immediately after a whole number of people disappeared behind the City walls, and a bunch of new ones from the City appeared outside, with sores on their bodies.

The Rot (posted 27 July)

“Damn, I thought that finger would hold out for at least another week,” he thought, as the flesh of his left ring finger finally pulled away from the bone and dropped into the dust and gravel.

Zombies Are All The Rage (posted 8 June)

Zach saw the Old One lying in the dust.  She had wriggled her body into the partial shade of her overturned cart, trying to get comfortable while she waited.  Zach knew her wait would be long.  He knew she would probably try to move before it was time.  It gets old waiting for everything to grow back so you can move again.

Zombie Fear (posted 3 August)

Feelings linger longer than the distinct memories.  I remember how I felt, but I don’t remember what I felt like that about.  I don’t remember why I felt it.  But I remember the feeling.

Home (posted 12 Oct)<

The storytellers say that back when there was no Rot, we went to the same shelter every night with the same people. That we stopped when the night stopped and the Rot started. And that something with the Rot made it so we just don’t remember it.

Arthur (posted 15 June)

“Boy, boy, boy.” Arthur shook his head.  ”Boy, you are missing the point of every story I’ve told you, and every story I haven’t.  The point is that it is what it is.  We are what we are.  Nothing will change that.  We’re here because of what we didn’t do back then.  We all were like the people in the City.  How many times have I told that one?  Six?  Sixty?  I don’t know, but I know you’ve heard it.”

“Boy, if we had believed, we’d be there now.”  He sighed again.  He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

The Last Night (posted 17 August)

“The City lay in ruins. Half its people had been taken slave by invaders, taken to foreign lands, worked like animals. Those that remained threw lifeless bodies onto the burning heaps every night.

“Then the ground shook.”

Reunion (posted 10 August)

She takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been to the City.”  She sips the coffee and smiles like she’s home again.

I missed that.

This could be worth forgiving.

What does coffee have to do with anything? (posted 9 Nov)

…she feels nice wrapped in my arms.  Can’t say this happens all too often. We are not an affectionate bunch. We pretty much try to stay out of each other’s way. We help each other when we need to, we listen to the Storytellers, we gamble together. But on an ordinary day, most of us keep to ourselves. So I don’t spend too much time holding other people.

Forgiven (posted 16 Nov)

Her fingers find the cuff of my shirt, and worry the edges as she starts to come back to me. Something happened in the City. I don’t think she’ll ever tell me. She can’t know that it doesn’t matter to me. Nothing matters except that she’s back here.

The Bad Seeds (posted 29 June)

Most of us have rot somewhere you can see.  Them?  They look fine.  That’s the first sign of it, actually.  Everyone rots somewhere.  That’s just how it is.  It usually starts in the extremities, so people can see it.  So if you can’t see the rot, you can pretty well guess it’s in the brain.

Stay clear of those guys.  Trust me.

The City (posted 7 Sept)

Something was different about the City.  Truly different.  The City glowed in the sunlight.  Especially when the sun was low, the city’s walls glowed a stunning orange and [I] heard music and laughter drifting over the wall.

Reconnaissance (posted 14 Sept)

There has to be a way in…I sit down with Arthur and we review today’s trip. It’s a quick review. Nothing new. Just like yesterday. And the day before.

The Climb (posted 21 Sept)

I think of the Old Ones, confined to carts. I think of Arthur, sitting back at camp, his Rot spreading toward his tongue. I remember that I have to do this.

I hang, frozen, on the side of the stone wall. I can’t let myself go down. They need me to do this. But I can’t go up.

If At First You Don’t Succeed (posted 28 Sept)

“We each have our part in this. Yours is, well, the physical part.” Arthur looks down at his own rotting body and shrugs at me. I guess he’s right. there’s no way he can climb a wall, and there’s no way he’s going through the main gates. So it’s up to me.

Third Time’s a Charm (posted 5 Oct)

I still have the half-smile on my lips as I stand up from the tree and drift back toward the wall.  As I get closer, something catches my eye.  Movement.  A few feet down the wall.

The stones aren’t the same as when I sat down.

Inside (posted 31 August)

As I creep through the city, I learn to be quiet. I practice. I catch myself making the little sounds we all make all the time. Sounds that say “we don’t really care anymore.” The sound of perpetual loss.

Zach Needs Help (posted 22 June)

“Look, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.  How did you get in here?  You can’t be here.”  Her eyes locked on his arm.

Which gaping holes do you want to see filled in first??  Leave a comment…

Now, I want to show you how five minutes of your time could help thousands of children live a similar love story.

As you may have heard, the Justin-Bieber-popular federal adoption tax credit is scheduled to be drastically cut at the end of this year. Like to $0 for most adoptive families.

Without this credit, many families will not be able to afford the high cost of adopting a child.

Despite your narcoleptic reaction every time you hear the word “legislation,” this is important. Stay awake through the whole thing and I’ll send you a cookie.

Legislation is currently pending before Congress that would reinstate the adoption tax credit and make it permanent (that’s a big deal, y’all). In order to help move this legislation forward, I am encouraging everyone I know (and everyone I don’t know) to contact their reps in the House and Senate about the need for this legislation.

Although you may not have contacted an elected representative in the past (I hadn’t), in the world of the Internet, it’s super simple. Can you read this blog post? Then you can e-mail a Senator.

Really.

You can easily send an e-mail to all of your elected officials in 5 minutes or less. Here’s how:

1. Click here to go to Contacting The Congress website
2. Enter your zip code to identify your elected representatives in the House and Senate
3. Click on the “Contact Form” link
4. Complete the top part of the web form with your name, address, etc.
5. Within the “Topic” drop-down box, click on the “Tax” or “Legislative” option (they all seem to be a little different, so pick the closest one)
6. Copy and paste the statement below into the “Message” section of the web form
7. If you’d like, customize the message to further explain why you personally support adoption (this is optional)
8. Click “Send”

Repeat steps 3-8 for each of your elected representatives.

Then forward this post to any family or friends who believe that bringing orphaned children into a loving home should be encouraged. You can even use the handy-dandy email button below (if you’re reading on the web, it’s the last one. with the little @ sign on it. it’s not there because I think it’s cute. use it.).

Thank you for taking a few minutes to help support kids and families.

Now let me know where to send your cookie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a constituent and a supporter of childhood adoption, I’m writing to urge your support for the adoption tax credit, which is set to expire on December 31, 2012.

Since 1997, the adoption tax credit has helped tens of thousands of parents offset the high cost of adoption, making it possible for them to provide children with loving, permanent families of their own.

If Congress doesn’t take action to extend or make permanent the adoption tax credit, parents adopting children with special needs will see their maximum allowable tax credit reduced to $6,000, and all other adoptive parents will be ineligible for any tax credit at all. Without the adoption tax credit, many parents who are otherwise willing to adopt will be unable to do so without great financial hardship, and others will not be able to adopt at all.

The adoption tax credit will need to be extended in order to help as many children as possible realize the love and permanency they both need and deserve. Bills have been introduced this year in both the House (HR 4373) and Senate (S. 3616) that will accomplish this if they’re enacted into law.

Accordingly, I urge you to support and enact this legislation before the tax credit expires at the end of this year. On behalf of the countless children waiting to be adopted and the many thousands of Indiana families that stand to benefit from the adoption tax credit, thank you for your work on this important issue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For more information about the adoption tax credit, click here.

Last week, my amazing friend Andi Cumbo made me this super-cute hedgehog. You can get one too, handmade just for you, from her Etsy shop, and support her dream for “God’s Whisper,” a retreat for artists in the Virginia mountains.

This started me thinking about *why* I love hedgehogs so much, and what we can learn from them…

A hedgehog is a solitary creature. I can relate. She is perfectly happy to cuddle up all alone in a warm little fleece bag. She won’t come out voluntarily unless you’re holding a mealworm in front of her nose. But once she’s out, she discovers a few fun things. I need friends to dump me out of the comfort of my blankie and PJs every now and then, too.

A hedgehog hustles when no one else is looking. In the wild, a hedgehog is an ultra-marathoner–some say she can run to up six miles a night. She doesn’t pack a lunchbag, or eat a big meal before she goes; instead, she finds the resources she needs along the way. I’m learning to hustle, to start running toward my dreams instead of sitting around and waiting to be “ready.”

A hedgehog knows when to face her fears. When a hedgehog is threatened, she curls up into a tight, prickly, impenetrable ball. But put her in shallow bathwater? She unrolls right away. Still scared, sure. But she knows she needs to unroll to survive, and she learns to trust that I won’t let her drown. I need friends who will challenge me to step into things that are scary but necessary. And who will wrap a warm fluffy towel around me after it’s all over and I survived.

A hedgehog knows how to play. Most hedgehogs love toilet paper tubes. (Really. Google it.) The lesson? Keep it simple. I don’t need all kinds of expensive, fancy toys to find joy.

Do you have a favorite quirky animal? Leave a comment…

Welcome to Fiction Friday.  Each Friday, I’ve shared with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends.  If you remember, an old friend returned last week, and fell apart in Zach’s arms.

You know the drill–this is only very minimally edited.  I still appreciate grace and forgiveness, please…no red pens!  :-)

“Zach?” She says it so quietly, I almost miss it. My mind was not here with us.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry.” I feel her body shift, and I pull her in tighter and rest my cheek on her head. She relaxes and mutters “I’m sorry” again. And it’s not just for falling apart. It’s for everything. I can feel her sadness, her regret. It seeps from every muscle, every bit of her perfect skin. She won’t have to say it again. I know. And I forgave her long before she asked for it.

Her fingers find the cuff of my shirt, and worry the edges as she starts to come back to me. Something happened in the City. I don’t think she’ll ever tell me. She can’t know that it doesn’t matter to me. Nothing matters except that she’s back here.

She shifts and this time, I know she’s ready to talk. She pulls away from my chest, leaving a chill in the shape of her head. She stays in my lap, though, my arms still draped around her waist.

“It’s beautiful.”

I nod.

“It’s warm. Even near the walls, in the shadows.” She must be cold if that’s the part she remembers first. I notice that even though we’ve been sitting here for hours, her clothes are still wet. I’d offer her some dry ones, but then I’d have to let go of her.

“Yeah?”

She shivers a little. “Yeah. And everyone wears white and doesn’t look dirty. Really, it was a little weird.” She sits up a little more and I know it’s time.

“Can I get you some dry clothes?” I whisper in her ear, and she smiles a little and nods.

She comes around the corner with a pile of wet clothes in her arms, climbs up on a couple of crates and spreads them out on my roof to dry. This is the girl I remember. Self–sufficient. Confident. But I know the girl I held last night, too. The cold, scared, beautiful girl. The one I love.

I wonder when I’ll get to see that one again.

“You’ll need to clean yourself up. You’ll never pass in there like this.” She waved her hand up and down at me. Like this. I grimaced.

“But that means I can pass. Right?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Cleaned up, if you keep your hand hidden, yes, you’ll be ok.”

Something seemed off deep behind her eyes, though. Like she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. Like she wasn’t sure she wanted me to go.

“OK, so where’s the Book?”

She laughs. “Not that easy, Rotter!” she winks as she says it, and somehow that makes it ok.

Why doesn’t she want Zach to go to the City?  Leave a comment…

(I sometimes want to look back at them and ask why they gave birth, but that’s a different post.)

We’ve told the story of how; we’ve told the story of what and where. And you certainly have heard about how the girls have changed our lives.

But I don’t think we’ve ever sufficiently answered why.

It’s simple, really…we fell in love.

For us, adoption wasn’t an answer to infertility, it wasn’t a way to meet a deep unfulfilled yearning to be parents, it wasn’t even through a passion to “save” an orphan.

We just fell in love.

Masha’s path crossed ours a bit unexpectedly. She didn’t have some grand plan of working hard and earning a spot on the trip to America to find a family. She didn’t  even know she was going until a few days before they left.

We didn’t have some grand plan of adoption, either (although my friends tell me I talked about it as a kid–but more as a way to avoid diapers and puke). We didn’t research countries and processess and developmental stages and ages and make choices that decided who got a chance and who didn’t.

God took care of all of that for us.

He worked out all the details for us and dropped Masha at our doorstep, where she froze in terror upon the sight of Simon. Where she said “большои дом” and  ”толстая собака.”  (He’s not fat.  He’s just fluffy. Really.)

God made it easy for us to take that first step, because that’s what each of us could handle.

And then he used experience to transform us.

He strengthened us so that we’d be ready for a bigger challenge. Deeper love. More faithful obedience.

But for us, the reason was always simple. Love.

• Love that went beyond looking at a picture on the refrigerator and sending a check (although we do that too)
• Love that went beyond filling shoeboxes with gifts from the dollar store (although we do that too, too)
• Love that looked us in the eye and said “this is where she’s meant to be”

That’s why we adopted.

***

It’s National Adoption Month.

Honestly, I wish adoption didn’t exist.

I wish every child had a safe home with two parents.

Do I think we’ll find that, short of heaven? Probably not. Until then, there will be hardship, there will be war, there will be famine, there will be selfishness and greed. There will be death.

Jesus told us there will be troubles, but He also told us that He will walk beside us.  That He will send an advocate to fill us with His power, and through Him we can do the things He calls us to.

For us, that was adopting.

For you, that might mean something else entirely.

Just make sure it means something.

***

What are you called to do that you can’t do on your own? Leave a comment…

Welcome to Fiction Friday.  Each Friday, I’ve shared with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends.  If you remember, an old friend returned a while back.

You know the drill–this is only very minimally edited.  I still appreciate grace and forgiveness, please…no red pens!  :-)

She sits down and peers at me over the edge of the coffee cup. Like she’s been here the whole time.

Wow.

Not really sure how she thinks this is ok.  But she knows.  She knows I’ll forgive her. Eventually.

“I’ve been to the City,” she repeats.

I try to not care. But she knows I do.

I try to glare at her. I scrunch my eyebrows together and drop my chin.

She’s not buying it.

She just waits. She takes a sip of the coffee, makes a little face.

“You don’t remember the coffee from before, do you?”

“Um. Not really, no. What does that have to do with anything?” I’m about to explode.

“Everything.” She looks back down into her cup and swirls the coffee around.  She watches like it’s the most fascinating thing ever. Like it’s Olivier performing Shakespeare. Callas singing M. Butterfly.  I don’t remember any of those things, so that simile is pretty stupid, right?  Just something people say to make people think they remember.

She sets the cup down on the dirt floor next to her and stands. She examines everything in my small shelter.  I don’t have much.  I don’t need much.

She shivers.  I sometimes forget how cold she gets, and I find a clean shirt to drape over her shoulders. As I pull my arm away, she leans her head on my shoulder. She feels soft. Vulnerable. Maybe even a little scared.  Definitely tired. I wrap my arm back around her shoulders and feel her start to let go.  She reaches around my waist, and I get my other arm around her and just hold her as she sobs.

I’m not sure where this came from.  She looked so sure of herself. She was back from an adventure.  She had information that she knew I wanted. She had the power. And here she is.

But she feels nice wrapped in my arms.  Can’t say this happens all too often.  We are not an affectionate bunch. We pretty much try to stay out of each other’s way.  We help each other when we need to, we listen to the Storytellers, we gamble together.  But on an ordinary day, most of us keep to ourselves. So I don’t spend too much time holding other people. In fact, I can’t remember a time when I ever did, yet she feels so familiar. So comfortable. Like she belongs in my arms.

Just not sobbing.

She’s not showing any signs of stopping, so I inch us over to the corner and sit down.  She curls up in my lap, and I hold her and wait.  I stroke her hair and I think how glad I am that I have most of my fingers right now.  It’s painful when they are growing back, but at least I’m not leaving fleshy bits in between the strands of blonde, wet from the rain.

She shivers again, that shaking feels different from the heavy heaving of her sobs. I pull her close. I don’t offer a lot of warmth, but it seems to help, so that makes me keep doing it. Plus, despite the rain and the dirt, she smells familiar. I can’t name it. But it’s something I know. Something good. I smile a little at the scent, but her tears are soaking through my shirt, and showing no signs of stopping.

I hold her and rock her gently until the clouds break up and the sun shines high over us again.

Why did she come back? Leave a comment…

The posts themselves weren’t really anything stunning…what struck me was the story that the collection of them told.

The five posts were titled:

• The big list of 100 tools, tips and tricks to work more efficiently online
• What multitasking does to our brains
• What happens to our brains when we exercise and how it makes us happier
• How much sleep do we really need to work productively?
• The science behind how your productivity is affected by what, how, and when you eat

Individually, all interesting but unremarkable. Collectively?  They say that we’re freaking fried. This shows that we’re ALL trying to do too much, and looking for ways to do more.

What’s wrong with this picture, people?

Is this how we want to live?

I look back on the day last spring when I broke.

I had been working a lot, plus getting up really early to write, plus helping the girls with homework, and on and on.

I hit my limit.

I lost it.

I curled up in a chair, under a blanket, with my Bible and opened it to Ecclesiastes…because that’s a great read when you’re crying already.  Real pick-me-up, Ecclesiastes.  

And as I read, something in the fourth chapter jumped out at me:

Better one hand full with tranquility than two hands full with toil and chasing after the wind.

Y’all, we are CHASING AFTER THE WIND.

We are running harder and faster to run after something that can never be caught.

We are chasing the wrong thing.

We chase efficiency and productivity.  We forget to take care of ourselves to the point where we seek out permission to sleep and exercise, and we validate doing them solely for the sake of more productivity.

How messed up is that?

Chasing after the wind, so we can have two hands full.  More stuff. More stuff that doesn’t fill the gaping hole in our souls that screams for more glory and more stuff.

I know this because I have been living it–I’m currently detoxing from it.

And it’s really freaking hard.

I still overcommit.

I still value busy a little too much.

I have given up chasing the tornado; I am now just chasing a strong breeze.  But I’m still learning how to find that tranquility. I’m trying to let go of the need to control it all.

Because if I stay in charge of it, I’ll be back on the internet reading those top 5 posts telling me to go get some sleep so I can be get more done when i’m awake.

I’ll find tranquility, but only if I let God take it all over and tell me where to put my foot as I take each step. And He is telling me to relax.

So…  Go get some sleep.

What wind are you chasing? Leave a comment…

Tomorrow, for the very first time, Masha will cast her vote for President, for Governor, and for several other local races.

You may have noticed that I stay pretty far away from politics here. That’s not a result of any strategy of appeasement, or any effort to passive-aggressively imply support for one side or the other based on certain beliefs I’ve shared or not shared here. It’s not from any failed effort to show direct support or opposition to any particular single issue.

Honestly, the reason is that I’m conflicted.

I have friends and family who hold strong opinions on both sides of the fence. I sit on the fence and dangle my legs over both edges. And friends, this makes my butt hurt. (Yes.  I just said that.)

It hurts to sit on the fence.

But it also hurts to jump down on either side.

It hurts because there’s so much that I disagree with on both sides. Because voting my conscience on one issue means voting against my conscience on another. Again and again.

We live in an incredibly complicated society. We are trying to find harmony between opposing forces. We are attempting to find justice in an unfair world. We disagree on what helps and what hurts. We disagree on who is capable of giving and who is worthy of receiving.

Opinions run the range of Ayn Rand to Karl Marx. With little bits of Jesus thrown in where He can help bolster our position.

But while our two-party system is very very imperfect, it’s still one of the best ones out there

Choose carefully and let your voice be heard in the cacophony — this is far more important than most people imagine. It sounds cliché, but it’s true.

Your vote counts.

Will you be voting tomorrow?  Leave a comment… (but please don’t tell us for whom.)

Photo credit: Theresa Thompson (Creative Commons)

Welcome to Fiction Friday. Every Friday I share with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends. Zach will be back next week, but this week I’d like to share something unique.

During the month of October, I participated in Writers Unite, a one-month challenge to focus not on platform or marketing, but on writing for the love of writing.  This tied in well with my career change, and it also coincided with the start of Andi Cumbo‘s online Short Story class.  Because of this beautiful coincidence, I chose to focus on improving as a storyteller.

In the past month, I have learned from a couple of the best writers I know about how to tell stronger stories, and I’ve been able to look more critically at my own writing through reading and critiquing others’.

Character, plot, theme. Risk. Focus.

The Result

Part of the Writer’s Unite Challenge was my commitment to share at least a small piece of my Writer’s Unite work.

One of the hardest things for me is to write from a perspective that’s not my own, and then try to give an honest voice to that perspective. To get better, I must tackle that.

This piece is a very radical experiment (for me, at least)…it’s told from the collective perspective of a school of goldfish in my pond, as I was doing some fall cleaning.

(ps…it’s harder than you think to write from the perspective of characters incapable of remembering more than 4 seconds ago, of thinking at all into the future, or of applying any greater meaning or context to what is happening.  Nemo is cute, but he is a lie!)

“We”

We float; the sun warms the surface, three-fish-deep. We drift, basking, warming our scales.

A crispy leaf drifts to the surface near us. We twitch. We turn. We warm some more.

We feel hungry. We slowly twitch a fin, a tail. We find a rock. We nibble at the strings of soft green algae.

We feel heavy steps vibrate through the water; we move together as one. We dart as one as deep as we can hide in clear water. We feel exposed.

The surface of the water breaks. The leaves move, something from above pushing, pulling. Leaves rise off the surface in big batches in a black net, leaving a wake of delicious drifting crumbs spinning in the water.

We love when the water moves; we are drawn to the current. We chase the net as it dips and dives and chases the leaves. We play with it. We get close until our fear overtakes our curiosity. We dart away. We return.

We get trapped in the current in front of the net, we wiggle and twitch fins, but the net moves too fast, the current is too strong. We are stuck.

But the net slows, hangs back just enough for us to get ahead, to dart beyond the current. We escape. We feel the pull as the net pulls strong again through the water, filled with leaves and not us.

We play in the murky water where the net has dipped deep. It picks up the soggy dead leaves on the bottom, stirring the muck, making the water spin. We dart in and out. Clean to murky, murky to clean. Chase the net. Dart away. We play.

The water calms, it becomes still. We dart from end to end, we swim laps through bits of leafs sinking through the muck. Tiny clouds of muck settle back to the bottom. The water clears.

We eat. We swim. We rest in the last warm, setting sun.

***

Can you imagine how a fish would explain his day?  Leave a comment…

Who you hang out with determines what you dream about and what you collide with.
And the collisions and the dreams lead to your changes.
And the changes are what you become.
Change the outcome by changing your circle.

Now, this is not a new idea. Smart people have been saying this since before the flood.

So why is this so hard?

The challenge is choosing your circle wisely. Excitement and thrill and fun are attractive, but they come at a very high cost. Choosing the people who will help lift you up and help you become the person you want to become, that’s hard.

We had an issue recently with one of the girls. For the record, it wasn’t the worst choice anyone could make by far. I’ve made much worse. I was influenced by the people I was choosing to spend time with, too. What we’re trying to teach both of the girls:

There are only two directions: toward your goals or away from them. (you can tweet that…)

I had to get really intentional about this last year when I started to take my writing seriously. I asked myself two questions:

• Do the people in your life encourage you to grow and blossom?
• Is there anyone in your life that gets in the way of your growth?

Here are a few practical things I learned along the way that might help you, too:

• Start with Twitter. This was how I finally fell in love with Twitter. I started following leaders and encouragers…anyone who regularly tweeted things that made my heart smile. Now, anytime I need a little lift, I know I can look at my twitter stream and see at least one or two really good nuggets of encouragement to remind me of who I want to be.
• Be intentional: Think carefully about your specific challenges and goals, and seek out the people who will help you get there. Ask for introductions.  Show initiative.
• Be choosy: Just because you met someone in church doesn’t mean they’ll be good for you. They might be a great person, but they might not be great for YOU.
• Encourage others: I have found amazing encouragement and some true friends by attending the Quitter and the Killer Tribes conferences, and staying active in those communities. I found that by giving support and encouragement, I got it back without ever having to ask! (thanks, y’all!!)
• Limit exposure to the negative:  If you find that someone is toxic–if you find yourself (even once) making choices around them that are not taking you toward where you want to be in your life–cut them off. Take them out of your facebook newsfeed. Stop texting them. Stop meeting up and going out. This sounds harsh, but if you’re fighting really hard to make a dream come true and become a new person, you have to let go of what holds you back. Non-negotiable.
• Be patient: Forming a new circle of friends and support takes time. Not everyone you approach will click. But keep at it. Show up, be present, bring your A-game every day, and the right people will appear when you need them.

What type of person do you need in your life to help you make changes and become the person you want to be?

How do YOU need encouragement today?  

Seriously, y’all, I want to encourage you, and I bet that some of the other awesome encouragers that hang around here will want to know you too. Even if you’ve never commented on a blog ever in your life, click here and leave a comment. Really.

I park the car in the same place at the airport. I sit in the same spot at church.

I put the half and half in the door of the fridge, on the same shelf in the same spot. Facing the same way.

I am borderline OCD.

But these habits serve an important purpose.

When I was young, I thought that routines were for lemmings, for the unthinking. But I’ve come to see them as the opposite. They free me to think about things that are far more important than remembering if I’ve brushed my teeth or put on deodorant. They help me focus.

Until they don’t fit anymore.

Sometimes shaking things up can be a good thing.  It’s good to see things a little differently, look at a problem from a different angle, get a new perspective.

But sometimes, it just takes a lot more energy to get through a day and figure out what to do next.  That’s what the past few weeks have been.

Having been in my last job for 12.5 years, I followed more routines than I realized.  They gave me the space to think more deeply about things that really required thought.  What I underestimated was how much creative energy that bought me, and how unproductive I would be as I adjusted and developed new routines.

I am trying to give myself grace to develop the new routines and find a new schedule that works.

At the same time, I have to be on the lookout for the point at which “finding the new routine” becomes stalling.

Important projects are not making progress.  Family priorities (like baking bread and being available to help with homework) haven’t come to fruition.

In The War of Art*, Stephen Pressfield calls it Resistance.  But it’s really a fancy term for fear–for the little voices inside our heads that say “you’re not good enough to do this” or “they won’t listen to you,” or “who are YOU write about THAT?”

I have encouragers and supporters whom I respect, telling me that I AM good enough.  People that I trust are trusting me.

It’s time to step up and prove that trust well-placed.

I used to help other people get stuff done for a living. I know how to do this. So it’s time to quit stalling, prioritize, and intentionally build a new routine that gets results.

What routines help you get the important things done? What do you do when they no longer apply? Leave a comment…

Photo Credit: hj_west (Creative Commons)

Welcome to Fiction Friday. Every Friday I share with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends. Zach is taking a little bit of a break, so I want to tell you about something new. 

Earlier this week, I saw an email from friend and mentor, Jeff Goins, talking about a new book, Dislocated, coming out next week (on Halloween) from his friend Max Andrew Dubinksy.

Now, I’ve been really tired. I’ve been behind. The last thing I need is another thing to read and review on a deadline.  

But I trust Jeff. He’s earned that over and over again.

He promised it was short. Knowing that Zach and I are pals, Jeff even told me later that that day that I would love it.

So I shot it over to my Kindle and started reading (it’s also available online in graphic novel format–stunning art if you’re into that kind of thing).

Maybe an hour later, I looked up from the last page and said “Dang…where’s the next one??”

I want you to feel that, too…

Max has accomplished what most writers dream of creating…an engaging story that sucks you into the whirling vortex of one really bad day.

Will Scott wakes up hung over. He doesn’t know what day it is. He doesn’t have pants.

Will’s day is like a car crash. You can’t look away.

From the first hysterically surreal encounter with a f*****g wolf in the hallway (which, as he notes, is far different and not to be confused with just a wolf in the hallway, “which would be no big deal at all”) to totaling his neighbor’s orange Lamborghini, you can’t stop…because Will can’t stop.

Will is a compelling character, far from perfect and, as noted, more than a little coarse — fair warning to those of you who are a bit more delicate (Mom and Dad Niles) — but you just have to root for him.

He’s real. He’s a mess. He’s just been in a bar fight, and our first glimpse of him is watching him spit his teeth into the sink. But he worries about his mom and he misses his ex. He has regrets. Wounds.

He gets scared, but he knows it’s push on or die.

And, as I read, I want him to make it.

Dislocated is a short book…just 67 pages. Perfect for our busy lives.

It’s a quick, engaging, read that can transport you, for a few minutes or a few hours, into a day that’s a lot worse than the one you’re having, but that’s also got excitement and heart.

I can’t wait for the next one.

Buy it.

Now.

What’s the best new fiction you’ve read recently? Leave a comment…

(by the way, the link above? that’s an affiliate link. that means that if you buy the book through this link–and i hope you do–Amazon throws a few pennies at me. and the government tells me I have to tell you about the pennies.  trust me, though…I won’t suggest you buy something unless it’s actually awesome. pennies aren’t worth losing your trust…but they do help put ramen noodles on the table. thank you for listening.)

Evan and his wife Morgan packed everything up and moved to New Zealand last summer.  Now that their boxes are unpacked and they are settling in, Evan asked me to answer a few questions about adoption and orphan care for his community:

1. Why are you so passionate about adoption?
2. What made you move from thinking about adoption to actually living it and doing it?
3. How has adoption led to a more full life?
4. Have there been any unexpected challenges? How did you cope with them?
5. How do you hope to impact culture?
6. What Can the #LiveFully community do if they want to support the cause?

These questions caused me to think again about what we’re doing and why, and I really appreciate the chance to get back to the basics and remember where this all started!

Stop on by Evan’s site, encourage him on his new lfe, and share what you are doing to life a full life!!

If you’re visiting here from #LifeFully, welcome!  I write mainly about adoption/orphancare issues and making a difference in the world.  For a little Friday fun, I share snippets of a fiction project I’m working on, too.

You can learn more about our adoption story here, or see a few other samples of my writing here.

But there aren’t very many people that would argue that we aren’t called to love and care for others in some way.

Even the most cynical among us has to feel something, even if it’s anger or a jaded skepticism, when they see a photo of a naked, malnourished orphan standing alone in the bush on a red clay road to nowhere.  Let’s just admit it, we’ve all cried along with Sally Strothers at some point in our past.

Most of us here have a heart for people in need. Many of y’all are already deeply engaged in caring for people who are in desperate need.

But we probably all know people who are just overwhelmed–who think that the problem is too big to make a dent.

It’s not. And these children need your voice.

Will you help?

National Orphan Sunday is coming up on November 4.  It’s a day set aside to amplify the voice of orphans worldwide, to remind those of us who have been given much that it’s up to us to help those who have lost so much more.

We have a great community of people investing time and treasure into making a difference in the world. We all have dreams. We spread ideas, we share hope, we offer grace and forgiveness and encouragement and peace.

Will you join me in spreading the word and encouraging the people you know to help a child in need?  Can you write a blog post or share the need on Facebook or Twitter?

They don’t have to adopt or move to Africa to be a missionary.  They just have to take a little step.

Every little thing we do makes a difference

Even if our actions only make a difference for one child, that’s one more child that has a chance.

What’s a creative way you can help spread the word about Orphan Sunday?  Leave a comment (and a link!)…

Welcome to Fiction Friday. Every Friday I share with y’all a glimpse into the mind of Zach the Zombie and some of his friends. After the excitement of Zach’s entry into the City, I thought I’d share some very early sessions with Zach talking about history.

You know the drill–this is not really edited, and also these are three different but related conversations. I appreciate your grace and forgiveness for all the flaws and inconsistencies!

The storytellers try to tell us that we were different a long time ago, that we were those people in The Days When There Was Night. And I don’t mean “we” as a group. They say it was me. You. Arthur. Kennath. All of us.

The storytellers say that back when there was no Rot, we went to the same shelter every night with the same people. That we stopped when the night stopped and the Rot started. And that something with the Rot made it so we just don’t remember it.

I am pretty sure that wasn’t us.

Besides, they say that those people ended. All the time, one of them was ending. So if they all ended all the time, how could we possibly be them. We don’t end.  Never seen it.

So it’s all a lie.

Has to be.

***

You know those words you come across? The ones the storytellers seem to use a lot. The ones they think makes them sound smarter? Words that you can kind of tell maybe what they’re supposed to make you feel, but if someone asked you “what’s that mean” you can’t really explain it? No one can. Not even the guy that said it in the first place.

Home is one of those words.

It sounds like a word from the Days When There Was Night. It must be a word from then.

I guess it’s possible it’s a word from the City. But I’m pretty sure it’s our word too. Or it used to be.

During the Days When There Was Night, things weren’t the same as now.  they were really different.

First off, the storytellers say that people started and ended.

Crazy, right?

But that’s what they say. They also say that almost all of the people would stop doing stuff soon after the light in the sky stopped (which happened all the damn time….what an inconvenience that would be!). I guess since there wasn’t a light in the sky, they decided it was pointless to go on.  So they’d stop. That they actually went somewhere and fell down on purpose and stayed there. Sometimes for eight, nine hours at a time. Doing NOTHING.

Can you imagine?

They had rain shelters, but the storytellers say they were really different. They stayed in them when it wasn’t raining. They stayed in them when the sun was dark.

They ended animals and brought the flesh into their shelters and ate it. Can you believe that? I think the storytellers are making that part up. ’Cuz there’s no freakin’ way they did that.

Another really weird thing…They didn’t all find the best shelter they could when they needed one. No, it was different…they always went to the same one.  with the same people. And usually not very many people at all. Sometimes, they even went to one alone.

If I try to put it all together in my head, I think this is what they mean with the word Home.

But I’m not sure it really means the shelter. If it did, why didn’t they just say “shelter”? I mean, wouldn’t that be easier?

No…I think it had something to do with the other same people that were always at the same shelter.

But I don’t really get it. How can they possibly stand that?

***

They say the City has shelters that are different. The people in the City sometimes go back to the same one over and over again too.

But the City is really different about a lot of things. They say, anyway.