For years I have wanted to write a book. I started my first book after I finished seminary 13 years ago. I currently have 3 books, at least, that I have started but haven’t finished. Why? It wasn’t because life got in the way, or because I got bored and have this terrible habit of not finishing what I start. If I look at all of them, I can tell you exactly why I stopped based on where I stopped. All the books are both biographical and practical. They are books of explanation and exhortation. Just like these blog posts they are based on both what I have learned from God through the Scriptures and through the experiences in my life. And the common theme of all of these writing cessations is this:
While all of them start with my inner failings and my inner wrestlings, I just could not continue to write when the next chapter really was a challenge or a wrong, that originated outside of myself.
I can talk for hours and even days about my own mistakes, but I just could not bring myself to write about the mistakes made against me. They were all hurts and wounds that shaped my understanding of my life and faith. But often those hurts and wounds came from people I still love dearly. And I just couldn’t figure out how to put them down on paper (or a computer screen) for all to see without causing pain.
I remember hitting that point at the fourth chapter of my third book. It was a chapter that addressed one of the most painful traumas I have endured in the emotional roller coaster that has been my 39 years of life. I started writing, hoping I could just push through and write everything I wanted and needed to say, but as I got to the moment, my fingers just could not type.
I thought about ways I could share my story without “outing” the people involved. But it just wasn’t possible. Even if I didn’t use names, the people involved would know who I was talking about and the people on the periphery might as well. And despite so many feelings of betrayal and abandonment that came from this experience, many of the people involved are still very important and loved people in my life. And despite the pain caused, I just could not bring myself to potentially become a source of shame for any of them—even the ones who hurt me most.
I was stuck. I desperately wanted to continue to write yet felt paralyzed to do so. So, it seemed my only choice was to stop—to refuse to write the things I felt so compelled to write.
And frankly, it felt like a part of me that was battling to come out was being stuffed back into a small box in my soul. It felt like a death.
I threw myself into my family and my business, trying to keep busy and let God work through me in different ways. But so often there would be a pounding on that box within—muffled screams from that part of me that just needed to tell my story.
This summer, I was at my sister-in-law’s lake house. It was about a month after I heard from the Lord to start writing again, but the first week that God really started convicting me to sit at my computer and type. I was heading out for a walk and popped on the next Ted X talk downloaded on my phone. This one happened to be by author Anne Lamont entitled: “12 Truths I learned from Life and Writing.” After some profound and humorous points, she hit this one that about made me stop in my tracks:
“Remember that every single thing that has happened is yours and you get to tell it. If people wanted you to write more warmly about them, they should have behaved better. You’re going to feel like hell if you wake up some day and you never wrote the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart: your stories, memories, visions, and songs; your truth, your version of things in your own voice. That’s really all you have to offer us and that’s also why you were born.”
I stopped in the middle of the road and paused the podcast. In about 10 seconds, Anne Lamont literally told me everything I didn’t know I needed to hear.
First, she gave me ownership; she gave me permission to share my stories. I have spent so much of my adult life telling myself I don’t have a right to tell a story if it is not my story alone. But here’s the thing: the parts of my life I feel so compelled to write about are not trivial or frivolous events. They are the game changers; the turning points that have shifted everything for me. They are moments of unspeakable pain. They are birthplaces of lies that I have spent every day since trying to “unbelieve.” The fact is, without understanding these key pieces of my journey, you can’t understand anything else that has come since.
Second, as if looking into my very soul, she spoke to the pain not telling my story has caused me. With more colorful words than I may ever dare to use, she gave life to the internal scream I have experienced again and again. I think of these moments so often. I live and minister out of what each one of them has taught me. My heart knows I need to let those stories out. Keeping them in feels like suffocation.
And finally, she gave life to the reason for why I share my stories here: because “that’s really all you have to offer us and that’s also why you were born.” As a teenager, I struggled big time with depression. I am sure I will blog about it more, but the thing that kept me alive through the darkest of moments was this: knowing that God could and would use my moments of deepest despair to help others through their darkest moments. When I first read 1 Peter 2:9 it truly felt like Peter was writing JUST to me:
“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter 2:9 NIV)
I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that God created me to be an open book and that He allowed for many trials and tribulations so that I could “declare the praises of him who called me out of darkness into his wonderful light;” so that I could point people to the One who loves them so deeply and walks beside them through each and every valley, desert, famine and fire.
Not telling your story truly is denying the world what you have to offer, because our stories are powerful. They have the power to change people. They have the power to change the world. Just think of that person’s testimony that made you feel you were not alone; not crazy. Just think of that person who shared a deep secret and allowed you to do so as well. Life-changing, game-changing, chain-breaking. This is exactly the gift Anne Lamont gave to me in these brave, wise words.
Moving forward I promise to pray over every single thing I write; every single story I tell. I will do everything possible to protect identities. I will show grace and assume good will. I won’t write until I feel the true fruit of forgiveness in my heart. And I will always test and make sure that in all things the potential for good truly and significantly outweighs any potential for harm. Writing for pure cathartic relief will happen in my journal; writing for bondage breaking will happen here. And I will PRAY with the hard stuff, as with the rest of the stuff, that every word I write will be penned by Him and will be used by Him to bring freedom to those who read it.