a thorny challenge for writers

Do you write from your pain?

A common question for writers

With an enigmatic answer.

An answer many believe holds the key to moving, unforgettable prose.

In her book, Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg says this:

“To begin writing from our pain eventually engenders compassion for our small and groping lives. Out of this broken state there comes a tenderness for the cement below our feet, the dried grass cracking in a terrible wind. We can touch the things around us we once thought ugly and see their special detail, the peeling paint and gray of shadows as they are–simply what they are: not bad, just part of the life around us–and love this life because it is ours and in the moment there is nothing better.”

*****

“Compassion for our small and groping lives,” she says.

Epiphanal, really.

After all, isn’t that what we long for?

Isn’t that what readers long for?

For the places untouched and unnoticed to explode into possibility and hope.

For thorns to become something marvelous instead of objects of blood-letting pain.

These ought to be the goals of the writer, yes?

*****

If only we accomplish this

within ourselves

and work it out

onto the page.

*****

calling the hearts of all artists

Lately I’ve been re-reading parts of a book our church’s ministry team studied several years ago called The Heart of the Artist, by Rory Noland. As a writer who loves Jesus, my highest hopes are to pen words which paint accurate and compelling portraits of the Savior, and to brush landscapes onto the minds of readers which love them along a path leading straight into His arms of hope and peace.

As artists, we have the responsibility of making sure the strokes of our messages synchronize with His Kingdom purposes. So, here’s a portion from this book, which is a great resource for those ever looking for ways to keep their gifts in check, while at the same time using them with reckless abandon for a world desperately in need.

From Chapter 4: Excellence vs. Perfection

When we talk about excellence in the arts, we often talk about artistic integrity. Having artistic integrity simply means that an artist performs or creates with skill. Psalm 33:3 tells us to ‘play skillfully, and shout for joy.” Don’t strive to be perfect; instead, try to perform or create skillfully. In other words, do the best you can with the talent you’ve been given. It doesn’t glorify God to be mediocre. He’s the God who exhibited ultimate skill and creativity in forming the universe. He delights in creativity and assigns value to things produced with skillful artistry. There was a vocalist in the Old Testament named Kenaniah who had a reputation for being skillful (I Chron. 15:22). He was singled out for leadership and responsibility because of his talent. He had artistic integrity. We need to shoot high artistically. We need to aim for quality over quantity, and substance over show.

We need to take the development of our artistic skill very seriously. First Chronicles 25:7 tells us that the artists in the Old Testament were all trained . . . Artistic integrity involves hard work. There is a price to be paid for excellence. Don’t kid yourself and think otherwise . . . This is no time for us artists in the church to be lazy. God is on the verge of using the arts in a mighty way . . .

. . . Saturate your mind with God’s Word so that when you perform a song or drama or dance about God’s grace . . . you feel a conviction down to the depths of your soul about how wonderful that grace is and how no one should live without it. Don’t neglect the potential for God’s Word to deepen the sincerity of your soul. If your heart is passionate about the things of God, you will communicate with sincerity . . . If we walk in the Spirit, the Lord will anoint our work as artists, and we will minister powerfully in His name.

Good stuff, yes?

Convicting, for sure.

I confess I don’t prepare my heart nearly enough before I write. And finding time to more deeply develop my skills is elusive.

But I can testify that when I do, breakthrough moments happen in my manuscripts, and I’m the one overwhelmed and knee-buckling-ly in awe of His grace.

What about you? Do you prepare your heart before you write? How do you pursue excellence of mind and talent as you pound out stories for Him?

Last newspaper column: Moving on with thanks and hope

Some friends of mine are moving out of their first home.

The home they perfected with post-wedding dreams and flowers.

The home they first brought their babies to, wrinkled, new and swaddled tight from the hospital.

“Isn’t it hard to leave?” I asked her.

She thought for a moment.

Her answer surprised me. “No, not really. We ‘ve run out of space, and besides, I really don’t get too attached to places.”

Contrast that with me, feelings on my sleeves, hardly able to drive by our first neighborhood without welling up with tears. The willow tree we planted, small and wispy, has long since engulfed the entire back yard with thick and billowing branches. And I can almost smell the baby powder and vanilla of sweet, pastel baby toys still wafting from the windows.

Each move we have made, physically or emotionally, has its challenges and rewards. No place—tangible or unseen—is perfect or stagnant. Change comes like the unstoppable shifting of the seasons, bringing with it the chance to either see things new and budding, or focus on the detritus of annuals which succumbed to the cold, hard winter.

And so it is with the life of a writer—or anyone, for that matter. New callings and opportunities arise. The seemingly constant path becomes weathered and worn. And roads untraveled call to us to move on.

It has been quite a privilege, serving this community with words for nearly three years. What you might not know is that I prayed before I wrote most every column. I prayed to bring you words which encourage and bring hope, while at the same time gently nudging you to take notice of places in our world—indeed, at times next door—which are calling we who are more privileged to lend a hand and send justice their way.

Places like Haiti after the earthquake.

The gulf coast after the oil spill.

Uganda as folks fight to put an end to Joseph Kony.

Indianapolis as it fought sex trafficking during the Super Bowl.

Churches building up and reaching out to neighbors.

Mostly, though, I tried to take something oh-so-daily and twist it . . . paradigm shift it . . . turn it so as to capture a new reflection, thought or idea.

And so it is with great gratitude and a bittersweet heart that I say goodbye as your weekly columnist. Not good-bye to writing, though. If you’d like, you can always follow my weekly blog posts, find updates about my future novels, and read all my past columns here on my blog.

In the meantime, keep looking for twists in your life.

You know, things like laughter and sunsets, lilacs and smiles. Things like parenthood and dogs and paint and rental carpet cleaners.

After all, it’s not the moving that’s hard.

It’s all the things you forgot to appreciate along the way.

Many blessings and hope to you all.

Thank you.