family

Some writers write words that come off the page like two hands cupping your face, inviting you to slow, to focus, and to simply listen.  Just slow and listen to this. 

Hilary Yancey is one of those writers and she finally wrote a whole book.  Here is a taste of her writing and then you can go put on your tennis shoes and run out to get her book.  Or just go to Amazon Prime because you’re not an animal. 

We were late to our eighteen-week ultrasound.  Preston surprised me with a lunch date at a farm-to-table restaurant just outside Waco.  I had been picking at my salad throughout, then picking at my dessert.  Ever since the positive pregnancy test, ever since the scribbled note of “large baby for gestational age,” I had lived on a live wire of worry. 

This ultrasound, which was the reason for the lunch, the reason for the celebrating, was full of fear.  An ultrasound could declare that things hadn’t gone according to plan or it could bless us with uneventful normalcy, with everything as expected.  I had worried for days that it would be the first, and as the ultrasound approached, I became convinced that something was wrong, that we would learn something terrible that Friday afternoon. 

I sat sullenly at our celebration lunch, listlessly moving the lettuce around on my plate with my fork.  Preston tried several times to ask me why I didn’t seem very peaceful or excited.  He tried to remind me that we were seeing our child for the first time.  Instead of answering his question, I picked a fight with him about the fact that we would be late right as the waitress brought over our check. 

It was raining while we drove back, and I wasn’t dressed for it.  My thin cotton skirt was covered in wet splotches.  I pressed my hands against it, feeling my gooseflesh beneath. 

We arrived and I was called back fairly quickly.  Preston stood up to join me, but the nurse told him to wait, that they would “call Dad back later.”  I followed the nurse back silently, holding my wallet in my hands because my skirt didn’t have any pockets.  Once I was on the table, the technician started to swirl the transducer probe over my belly only to declare irritably that she couldn’t see much because my bladder was too full, and gestured to a bathroom across the narrow hallway. 

I stood up and walked meekly to the bathroom.  I was mad that I had been late, mad that I had tried so hard to drink the eight necessary glasses of water a day only to be told it was wrong.  I am the kind of person who, upon deciding that she has just done the entire day wrong, cannot be persuaded otherwise.  I had failed the morning; I had failed lunch with my husband; I had failed the ultrasound; I had failed this baby.  I washed my hands and slunk back into the room. 

The exam was completely silent.  The technician commented only once, to express frustration that the baby moved so much that she was having trouble getting good pictures of the face.  She sighed multiple times, tracing the same circles around and around, shifting in her chair.  When she said that the baby was so active, I tried to smile. “ That’s good, right?”  She said nothing. 

I continued to stare at the green and cream border on the walls.  There was a large calendar just opposite the exam table, turned to the month of April.  It was a calendar with platitudes written across a beautiful sunrise background, things like “Live, laugh, love” and “Every act of kindness grows the spirit and strengthens the soul,” things people put up on refurbished shiplap in their homes. 

I read the words on the April graphic of a generic sunrise, or a sweetly blooming daffodil, and swallowed too loudly.  I wondered if she could hear my heart beating against my bones.  I wondered if she was judging me, my silence, my lack of questions or exclamations or rambunctious joy.  I wondered if she had even registered my face before hunting for my child’s. 

I prayed in that room, lying in that anxious horizontal position, my hands tickled by the paper they roll onto exam tables.  God spoke one thing back, something I have forgotten until the writing of this book, something I proclaimed for a week or two, until the diagnosis, until the end and the beginning: “She can never tell you something about this person I do not already know.” 

YOU GUYS. 

I know it’s a cliff-hanger, I know.  But this is an actual excerpt from Forgiving God: A Story of Faithand you need to get it right this minute so you can read her story. 

Hilary Yancey loves good words, good questions, and sunny afternoons sitting on her front porch with a strong cup of tea.  She and her husband, Preston, and their two children, Jack and Junia, live in Waco, Texas where Hilary is completing her Ph.D. in philosophy at Baylor University. 

Her first book, Forgiving God: A Story of Faith is available wherever fine books are sold (Amazon, Barnes & Noble) – and you can hear Hilary read the audiobook, too! 

P.S. After her son was born, Hilary posted this photo on her Instagram.  I have never forgotten the stunning and compelling novel that her beautiful face expresses without saying a word.  It is exquisite and sacred and I will never forget it. 

This morning I woke up and was compelled to write a blog post like it’s 2009.  But maybe that’s not quite right. 

I’m convinced in the power of letting things go, of hushing up for a while, and giving not only our souls room to breathe, but our practices, too. 

I haven’t written in a free-form kind of way in this space for a while, but there’s no need to go back in time to invite back into our lives what we loved about the past.  We can do it now, in whatever way we like.  We can do it in 2018, too. 

I can’t fully account for the compulsion I woke up with to write here.  Maybe it’s because I read Emily’s post about her family’s vacation the other day or maybe it’s because I’m a writer, after all, and a blog is still the best place to practice writing and see what connects, if you ask me. 

It could also be that this week I’ve been combing through my iPhotos to delete duplicate, terrible, and oops images and in the process I watched my life scroll by in pixels and it reminded me of the old days of blogging where we shared the little things and the ridiculous things and sometimes the big things, too. 

We still do that, I know.  Just in different ways and different places (hello my beloved instagram!  I see you and never plan to leave you.) 

My compulsion to write a personal blog post this morning could also be because of this: it’s the end of April and the twins are in 8th grade and their little brother is in 5th grade and that means in the next few months, we will be transitioning from elementary school to middle school for him and from middle school to high school for them and I’m starting to feel some kind of way about that. 

That was a four line run-on sentence and I don’t even care. 

I started this blog before our youngest was born and having him go into middle school in the fall, well.  It’s enough to force a mama to write on a blog again is what I’m saying. 

So here I am and here you are and look at us!  Writing and reading blogs still!  Sometimes it’s good to do things just because you want to. 

To be clear, not writing as often in this space is not a strategic decision for me.  It’s just been a natural evolution of life, of simpler platforms, of easier ways to communicate with you, and of time. 

Also, I’m in grad school, finishing up my second semester and preparing for summer term.  Being a student again has a way of clearing the decks and honing in priorities, not to mention if I’m sitting down to write a thousand words, it’s going to be for a school assignment and not a blog post. 

By the way, because I know some of you will ask, I wrote about my school decision here: How I Made A Hard Decision.  If you’re curious, I’m getting my Masters in Christian Spiritual Formation and Leadership and I’ll be finished with it next spring. 

So these are the days of required reading, of spiritual theology, of looking and re-looking at what I believe.  With each new chapter, lecture, and conversation, I am more curious, more in awe of the mystery, more grateful for our friend Jesus, and more convinced than ever that His kingdom is strong and unshakeable – to borrow the phrase from my friend and teacher James Bryan Smith. 

We spent countless hours building and re-building that space that we’ve run for two years and now in what will be our third year, we’ve caught a fresh vision for how we want to serve our writers and how the whole thing fits into our own unique calling and, though it takes up more time than ever and is fast becoming a huge part of my job, I’m grateful everyday I get to do it.  What a gift. 

Last week I traveled with John to California to serve at our friend Jamin Goggin’s church.  We met Jamin two years ago when we traveled to Italy for the Tuscany Writer’s Retreat and had a near instant connection. 

Here he is in one of my favorite photos from our week together, he and Jenni Burke (they led the trip together) serving the pool goers.  Only in Italy. 

So we had a connection and because of that, he invited me to come serve the women at his church last week, to lead them in retreat which now ranks up there as one of my most favorite events I’ve been a part of in recent years.  But my point is, several California hope*writers drove hours to come to this retreat simply because I was going to be there. 

I almost cried when I saw them – familiar, kind, writerly faces.  These are my people and again, I’m grateful. 

And so these are the days of probably working a little too much, of watching Cedar Cove on Netflix because it’s non-threatening and doesn’t make me think too much, of discovering Louise Penny books and Chief Inspector Armand Gamache. 

These are the days of watching the new American Idol with the kids and remembering how much I love duets and seeing Katy Perry in a new kind of way that I like. 

These are the days of almost seventeen years of marriage to John and how is it possible that I still learn new things about him and just want to spend all the time with him still?  After all these years?  May that never change. 

These are also the days of discovering new apps for photos that help us time travel and manipulate space and erase the existence of people.  For example, the photo above?  Is a lie.  The one below is the truth. 

Tell me you see the difference.  The app is called Retouch and it has powers is what I’m saying. 

But back to the point.  I have one.  I think. 

With all the transition in this space over the last twelve years, a few things remain solid. 

I believe more than ever that I’m called to a ministry of listening which feels like a weird thing to say when I’m doing so much talking.  But I continue to work to create space for your soul to breathe in whatever way will both serve you and sing well with my own current life stage. 

For now, I do that through The Next Right Thing Podcast, instagram (and stories!),  and my weekend email and monthly letter. 

I can’t say for sure how I’ll continue to do that in the future, but I can say I’m sticking around to find out. 

I still love photos. 

I still love talking with writers about writing. 

I still love writing words I can’t take back, discovering what I think about things by writing my way through it, and listening as a loving discipline for myself and others. 

This is turning into a list post, isn’t it?  I didn’t mean for that to happen.  I have to save some things for our What We Learned link up at the end of May. We still do that, by the way – share what we learned at the end of each quarter. 

But that was not my intention here.  Instead, it was simply to say hello, to document a few things happening these days, and to give myself permission to write on a whim without an agenda. 

Thank you for receiving the words and for always being a safe place to come back to.  Would love to hear from you in the comments as proof that some people still read blogs! 

But listen, if you are a forever lurker and only comment on Instagram or just don’t like commenting in general because it’s a pain, I’m here for that, too.  We’re running an introvert friendly gig over here, lurkers welcome, no need to raise your hand. 

If all you ever do is skim, nod, and go on your way, you’re always welcome back. 

However you show up, I’ll take it.  Thanks for doing the same for me. 

P.S. Of course I still write regularly, just not always here.  You can get my monthly letter by signing up below. 

If you are a human and are seeing this field, please leave it blank. 

I send out a secret letter to my readers one time a month.  Want to get it? 

I’m all about helping you create space for your soul to breathe, starting with your inbox.  Over 33,000 people trust me with their email address.  I will never send spam or photos of bare feet.  You have my word on this. 

Out of all the decisions in this world we have control over, there is definitely one whole category of our lives we can’t predict, manage, or bullet point. 

No matter how organized we get, how much we plan, how prepared we are for what might come, one thing we can always count on is that the people in our life will surprise us, delight us, disappoint us, overwhelm us, or confuse us. 

We can manage our time, our work, and our agendas but we cannot manage relationships.  At least, not if we want them to be healthy. 

How do we move forward in love?  How can we discern a next right step with the people in our lives when they can be so unpredictable and. . .  people-y? 

For anyone who wants to remember some basic but often overlooked foundational truths about relating with people, I give you this — A Soul Minimalist’s Guide to Relationships. 

Release your agenda. 

Why is this one so simple and so hard!? 

When one of our girls experienced a profound disappointment in her life (she was in fourth grade so gauge your imagination accordingly), I struggled as her mom to balance wanting to teach her a lesson and just wanting to be with her. 

It’s true, learning is good and disappointments are an opportunity for growth.  But I’ve grown weary of trying to squeeze a lesson out of everything, of always asking what God is trying to teach me in every circumstance, of seeing the world through lesson-colored glasses and forcing struggling people to do that, too. 

Instead, when it comes to discerning your next right thing in relationships, releasing your agenda is a good place to start. 

Let’s practice walking into the great mystery of God.  Let’s practice encountering Jesus as a person and not a character.  Let’s practice releasing our agenda to perform, perfect, and prioritize.  Let’s live this day as a daughter first and allow the student to tag along behind. 

Look for arrows, not answers. 

So often, the questions we have in life that give us trouble aren’t the daily ones like what to wear, what to eat, when to mow the grass (although these can become burdensome if we’re already struggling with decision fatigue). 

In my experience, the situations where I most desperately want an answer are the ones that are the hardest to find.  These usually have to do with things like faith, vocation, and relationships. 

My husband John and I went through a vocational transition about five years ago.  No only did we not have answers, every question we asked seemed to birth more questions.  What we discovered over that several year-long transition was we were looking for the wrong thing. 

Rather than a specific plan, God offered us his hand and led us not to clear answers but simply back to one another.  It was one of the most life-changing periods of our lives and it didn’t come from a five step agenda but from listening and looking for arrows to our next right step. 

“Sometimes the circumstances at hand force us to be braver than we actually are, and so we knock on doors and ask for assistance.  Sometimes not having any idea where we’re going works out better than we could possibly have imagined.” —  Ann Patchett, What Now? 

Come home to yourself. 

As difficult as it may be to admit, sometimes it’s easier to focus on every relationship except the one I’m guaranteed to have for the rest of my living life – the one between me and myself.  It doesn’t seem right since we are already so good at thinking of ourselves first, wondering what people are thinking of us, and basically being our own point of reference in all situations. 

Maybe relief from selfishness won’t be found in denying ourselves the way we tend to think of it, but to finally become ourselves the way we were intended to be.  Not the false, try-hard, self-referential version, but the true, free self who is created in the image of God. 

The only person you’re guaranteed to be with every day of your life is you.  So maybe it’s time to make some peace.  You don’t have to fly apart in the midst of chaos.  You can learn to sit down on the inside and be at home with yourself instead. 

“It’s a wild and wonderful thing to bump into someone and realize it’s you.” 

Choose connection. 

When it comes to relating with people, whether it’s family or strangers, how we enter a room can mean the difference between connecting with them or comparing ourselves to them.  If I walk in and immediately wonder, What are they thinking of me?  then I have automatically made comparison a top priority. 

Contrary to what we often say about connection and chemistry, the truth is connection doesn’t normally just happen.  We have to actively choose to set aside our own insecurities and move toward people without an agenda or a measuring stick. 

When I was a kid, vacation meant packing up the Barbies in their bathing suits, driving a mile to Grandma Morland’s house, and dipping their plastic feet in her blow up swimming pool. 

It meant fun dip at the public pool and sprinklers in the backyard. 

Maybe once or twice, it meant driving 30 minutes outside our small Indiana town to Brown County State Park and pitching a tent for the night. 

In other words, we pretty much didn’t take vacations. 

But none of my friends did either as far as I knew.  It wasn’t a thing. 

Now, though, John and I take the kids to the beach every year right when school lets out.  We meet his mom, his brother, his sister, and all their spouses and kids, too.  We stay in a house right on the coast and spend the week with bikes and ice cream and as much time in or near water as is possible. 

The luxury of this is not lost on me. 

Still, we all know vacation does not necessarily mean rest and the weeks leading up to leaving can be filled with so much running around and preparation that by the time you get to your destination, you wonder if it was all worth it. 

It is always worth it.  But sometimes it takes a few days to settle in. 

This year was the smoothest transition from regular life to vacation life yet and I know exactly why.  It’s because John wrote a Vacation Primer for the Soul and we both started it before we left. 

As it turns out, I can pre-shop, pre-pack, and prepare for every possible scenario, but if I neglect my soul heading into vacation, I’ll be in a funk no matter what. 

I loved this idea of a vacation primer so much I forced and coerced John to make it available to you as well. 

The five page primer includes:

A pre-trip prayer

A mindset shift before you go

A simple reading from scripture

Tips for family conversation

An evening prayer to close each night of your trip

Simply click the button below to download this free Vacation Primer for your Soul and it will land in your inbox for easy reading and printing. 

My husband John is the director of a local non-profit called Grace Discipleship where he offers soul care for young men, families, and pastors through curious listening and spiritual friendship. 

One of these days I will tell you all the beautiful ways God is moving in and around this hidden, local work John does everyday. 

Today I’m sharing my subscriber-only weekend links email with you here.  It’s longer than usual because I’m also announcing 3 events coming up.  We still share weekend links every Saturday but now we do it exclusively through email.  Want to get a curated list of great writing and thoughtful resources each week?  Sign up here. 

Hello, you.  Here are four articles, one podcast, and three upcoming events to help you create a little more space for your soul to breathe.  Enjoy! 

You guys!  This is the best story I love it so much – Esther Havens (who I traveled with to Israel last year) recently got engaged and their story is fantastic.  It’s sweeping across the Internets and magazines and I just bet they’ll be meeting Matt Lauer by the end of next week. 

I’m headed to Raleigh, NC to join Knox and Jamie for their live show.  My girl Kendra (The Lazy Genius) is their special guest and she’s bringing me as her plus one.  Never heard of The Popcast?  Learn more right here.  Would love to meet you.  Hint: you’ll love it if you’re in to pop culture and laughing. 

My dad drank three quarts of beer everyday for fourteen years.  That’s why today is a day that should never have happened. 

That’s him, in the front on his knees with his finger up his brother’s nose.  I’m the smallest one standing with my sister. 

All the men in this picture have most likely been drinking except for Pop, the oldest one on the right who quit years before this photo was taken. 

This is family, for better or worse. 

I wish I could tell my younger self that one day my alcoholic, non-believing-in-Jesus Dad would write a book about God and family and grace and what it means to get along with the people who matter most. 

Today that book, A Family Shaped by Grace, releases in bookstores and I have cried about it, laughed about it, and then did both again when I watched this short trailer. 

While the images in the video are from our family album, I know you’ll find shadows of the dreams and longings you have for your own family in here, too. 

Here’s to showing grace, to having hope, and to believing that good things are yet to come. 

I’m not sure how it is that I get so lucky as to host some of the most beautiful writing on the Internet, but this is what keeps happening when I have a guest writer.  Today it is my privilege to host Hilary Yancey.  I didn’t realize how much I needed to read this.  May it be true for you as well. 

Two days before my wedding, my mom drove me through the winding streets of downtown Ipswich, taking the longest possible route to our Starbucks (I think we must all have this kind of place, this large but anonymous place that becomes our own).  We ordered passion tea lemonades.  We ordered cookies and those vanilla bean scones my mother always acknowledges are going to be dry, but eats anyway. 

We lingered for so long in the parking lot until there wasn’t any more time; my sister had planned a bachelorette dinner and so off I went, into the future – a future that I painted as full of new roles—wife, graduate student, Texan, mother—but somehow had left out the colors for daughter. 

When my son was born, I reentered a need for my mother.  She came to the quiet campfire of NICU monitors and again to bake blueberry muffins in a borrowed kitchen for Christmas morning brunch.  She sat with me for hours as I pumped milk for Jack, she read and knitted and kept watch with me while I held him as he slept on me, time after time. 

And then when the seasons had waved their spindly fingers and we were back in September, my son turning one and my heart learning that depression had been walking alongside me, unannounced, my mother came again.  She came to drink tea, to sit with cheese and crackers on the porch swing in the fading October sun.  She came to sit with me and puzzle the weight of such change.  She found a Starbucks on campus to make our own for a day or two. 

Becoming a mother taught me to be a daughter again.  To let the bones and muscles that had pulled and pushed my son into the world sink into her familiar mattress on a Saturday morning; to let the sun that streams through the ancient windows of the second story of my childhood home warm my face and lull me to sleep. 

Almost three years from the frenzied weeks of my wedding and I went home for a few days alone.  My mother and I took a long drive to our Starbucks and went back an even longer way, talking just fast and just slow enough. 

We drank chai lattes and chose pumpkin bread over the vanilla scones.  We stopped at Plum Island beach just because.  We walked freezing along the edge of the country and saw the wilderness of water in its misting, grey-blue activity.  The wind cut at our cheeks and we both needed a hat.  We thrust our hands in our pockets and my Toms filled with sand, the hours fading in the brightness of being who we are to each other: mother, and daughter, friend and friend. 

Is it a long myth of growing up, that we cease to be children?  We cannot be anything without first being someone’s child; we cannot outgrow that first and softest skin; we need not. 

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!  How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” ( Luke 13:34, NRSV)

Hilary Yancey is mama to Jack, wife to Preston and in the midst of getting a PhD in philosophy from Baylor University. 

When she isn’t chasing an idea, a busy toddler, or learning the first few steps in her adult beginner ballet class, you can find her writing at her blog The Wild Love or on Instagram at @hilaryyancey. 

***

One more thing: there is a photo that was taken moments after Hilary’s son Jack was born and it’s one I will never, ever forget.  I remember where I was when I saw it for the first time, that is how powerful it is. ( Okay so I scroll back through her Instagram from time to time just to see it, sue me.)  Whenever I see it now, even though I know it’s coming, I still tear up because her face and that moment, well.  It is exquisite. 

As the world shouts and clamors chaotic around us, God whispers songs of hope over our hearts.  My greatest joy in life is simply holding a megaphone for His words as He calls His children, the artists, to Himself. 

For over six years I’ve been writing about art and creativity.  I’ve been paying attention for even longer than that. 

My humble hope is to be not only a fellow journeyer on the creative path but also a gentle guide.  As I watch, listen, and create, I see a stark difference between the creative women who create from a place of wholeness and those who create from fear. 

Here are 8 qualities of the whole-hearted creative woman. 

1.  She see limits as opportunities. 

She no longer says well if I had more ______, then I could ______.  She’s put excuses aside. 

Now she understands her real life, her real budget, and her real amount of time is not keeping her from her creative work.  Whole-hearted creative women know our limits can be gifts if we let them be.  We simply have to do what we do best: receive the gift of the present moment with all of its limits and potentials and be creative with what we have. 

2.  She integrates her creative work into every part of her life. 

Because she has to.  She is not just one thing.  Wholehearted creativity means embracing our whole lives, refusing to compartmentalize.  We are mothers and musicians, students and social workers, wives, teachers, cooks, maids, cheerleaders, friends, boss ladies, dancers, painters, and accountants.  We bring our creative selves to each situation, open and ready and generous. 

3.  She believes deep in her bones there is enough to go around. 

Other people’s success does not freak her out.  Freak outs are for amateurs.  She doesn’t hide behind comparison or excuses.  Instead, she champions the work of others and hands out her support with grace and compassion. 

4.  She knows her art is the evidence, not the goal. 

The wholehearted creative woman knows that art is not simply the work of her hands.  Her truest artistic work is being fully herself in the presence of others. 

The book, the painting, the meal, the presentation are all simply evidence of a deeper art happening within the soul of the artist. 

Art is what happens when we dare to be who we really are. 

Whatever comes out as a result of that – whether you teach, sing, build, write, love, help, or calculate; if you cook, parent, lead, clean, organize, or listen – these are evidence of a person who is fully alive. 

5.  She doesn’t wait to feel qualified. 

When she’s tempted to think maybe she got this whole calling thing wrong, she remembers that catchy phrase Mark Batterson said, that “God doesn’t call the qualified, he qualifies the called.”  She remembers Moses, Esther, David, Mary and Joseph.  Oh yeah, she says to herself.  I am equipped because God is with me. 

6.  She no longer fears the silence. 

She has made her peace with the silence she sometimes hears when she asks what is next.  She trusts the inspiration will always circle back around again.  She listens in the darkness and creates her way through it because sometimes that’s the only way out. 

7.  She understands the soul and the schedule don’t follow the same rules. 

The days of trying to force her soul to sync up nicely with her schedule?  Those days are past.  Now she understands the deep work happening in her soul cannot be rushed, simplified, or systemized.  That is not her job.  Instead, she pays attention.  She listens to the gentle heartbeat of her own life.  She refuses to try to force clarity out into the open before it’s time. 

8.  She knows she’s an artist. 

Though we may not all be artists by profession, we are most certainly artists by design.  She accepts her birthright with a humble confidence.  She is made in the image of a creative God and this means she has a job to do. 

Her job is to show up in the world with her whole heart and do the next right thing in love.