Roll With It & Be Wise [musings about upended plans]

I recently read Deep Work by Cal Newport—a book centered around the idea of cutting out distractions and working intensely (i.e. – deeply) for extended periods of time on one project.

It was an incredibly helpful, inspiring, and enjoyable book, and I’m still processing all the ways I’m going to implement it in my life (there’s a blog post coming about it).

This past Wednesday, after finishing Deep Work, I set some big goals for October, outlined how I would reach those goals, scheduled out my days, and then happily drank some chai, pleased with how things were looking because things were looking good.

In fact, things were looking like I maybe had my life together. I would get that newsletter out, edit those chapters in False Gods, do some work on a secret project (the High Command fireflies were going to hear about it in the newsletter), and even perhaps bring order out the chaos that is my bedroom. All before Saturday. Yeah, I had things that together.

But even—or maybe especially—the best laid plans can quickly run merrily off the rails.

roll with it and be wise

Some Background

I won’t go into details because some of the details are not mine to share. Suffice it to say for reasons beyond my (or anyone else’s) control, none of those things got done. None of them.

Come Thursday, my glowingly productive and organized future died a swift and sure death.

People I dearly love unexpectedly needed time-consuming help—help I could give with time God freed up for me weeks ago, help that would require me to let go of many of my glowingly productive and organized plans for a few days.

I was so oddly torn between being so happy to help these that I love but also looking at my completely unchecked to-do list with “I Dreamed a Dream” playing on a loop in my head (please, someone, tell me they know exactly the feeling I’m talking about).

The little planner, goal-setter in me died several times over the course those couple days of not-doing-what-I-had-planned-on-doing as box after box after box in my bullet journal went un-filled. My insecurities about not producing as quickly as my author peers rose up. I wilted whenever I thought of how far behind I was quickly falling.

This is such a bad start to the month and my whole new plan of deep work and productivity, I thought to myself. And whenever I have a bad start, I never accomplish my goals. I’m already so behind; I’ll never catch up. Might as well throw the rest of the month out.

Whenever I made it home from helping my friend, my brain was just dead. Empty. Finished. The newsletter got partway put together and fizzled out. One chapter of False Gods was sort of polished. The secret project just didn’t happen. And the room remained a disaster.

But the Holy Spirit kept whispering that if doing what I was doing took even just a little weight off my friend and her hubby’s minds during their crisis, there was no project I could work on or produce that would be worth more.

“Yes, I know. Obviously,” I replied with an eyeroll. “But my plaaaaannnnnnnnnssssss. My goaaalllllllsssss.” Can you hear the whine?

“Roll with it, the Holy Spirit whispered, ever patient. “Adjust your sails, because these people are what are important right now.”

Why I Share This

Because people, not projects, are what is important right now. In fact, people will always be what is important right now.

Because there are only twenty-four hours in a day, only seven days in a week, only fifty-two weeks in a year, and we must be wise with our time.

Because plans and goals are good and important and helpful, but we are the ones who make those plans and set those goals. They do not rule us; they are not set in stone.

Because unexpected things happen, and we must learn the art of throwing our plans out the window in the name of something better.

Because godly discernment is absolutely necessary for us to live this life well.

Because there are times when we must still buckle down and stick to the plan despite the chaos the around us.

And because there are times when we must realize our plans didn’t leave room for what is more important.

Because in a world of competition and striving and career-chasing, we must remember that it’s okay to not get there first.

Sometimes the world will go around just as we think it should—the laundry will get done, the book will get finished, the blog post will go up, the dinner will be healthy and at a reasonable hour, eight full hours of sleep will be had, Bible study will be delighted in, the emails will get replies, the leaves will be raked, the plan will be executed.

But sometimes things unravel at the seams in ways we never expected. And when those times come, we must be wise with our time, and we must roll with it, carrying the mindset that there are worse things than unexecuted plans and unmet goals.

And besides, trite as it may sound, God’s in control.

With love,

Rosalie

p.s. – that memo from High Command will land in your inbox sometime this week. Probably.

p.p.s. – yes, I realize this post is vague and unhelpful, but it’s a post, which is more than we can say for last week when there was no post at all.

p.p.p.s. – I tend to have an all or nothing mentality; it’s either scheduled to the second or there’s no plan at all. This whole idea of finding “the happy middle” of those two extremes continues to be a stretch for me. Hence, this post which is sort of disjointed and *shudder* half-baked, and I’m still not sure you guys get why I brought up Deep Work at the beginning.

p.p.p.p.s. – there’s a lot more I wanted to include in this post, but my brain’s still like, “Oh, you want to think? Haha, that’s cute.”

p.p.p.p.p.s. – that new Gray Havens album, amiright? Yes, of course I’m right.

p.p.p.p.p.p.s. – okay, I’ll stop now. Bye, kids. *crawls back into the hole of blankly staring at leaves falling from my birch tree* *suddenly realizes this is why Penprints hasn’t gone viral* *couldn’t really tell you what “this” is*

Goodbye September [a fall-ish tag]

Julia from over at Lit Aflame tagged me to do a Hello September tag, but alas September is almost over. So I’m calling it Goodbye September (in case the title of this post didn’t clue you in). Thank you so much for tagging me, Julia!

This is very much a written-in-my-jammies-from-under-a-blanket post. Aka: super chill. Let’s go, kids.

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The Rules:

hello september blog tag.jpg~Please copy the questions below, answer them, and then write out your new questions (or you can even copy these) for the people you nominate below your answered questions.

~Please nominate at least three bloggers, but try to avoid ones that you know have already been tagged.

~Lastly, include these guidelines in your post, and use the tag picture!


The Questions:

  1. Do you like fall? Why or why not?

Yes, I like fall, but not for fall’s sake.

I like fall because it means summer is over and winter is on its way. If you’ve been around Penprints for a while, you may remember this post about how much I love winter. It is my absolute favorite season, and I enjoy fall because it’s the gateway to winter.

I love that though so many things die in the fall, they die in the promise of resting for the winter and bursting back to life in the spring.

So, yes, I like fall.

  1. Favorite fall book?

Now for this one, I couldn’t decide. Because so many of my favorite books take place in the fall or partially in the fall. Like A Time to Die by Nadine Brandes. Like Fawkes by Nadine Brandes. I don’t have a Nadine Brandes problem, I promise. Like The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

So for now, let’s go with those three. :)

  1. Favorite fall time memory?

Ohhhh, I really like this question.

My siblings and I were all homeschooled, and Mom would take us out to a pumpkin farm almost every year to pick pumpkins and go through a corn maze and get donuts and such. Those were always fun, very fall-ish trips.

But more dearly than that, I remember school starting up and the little routines Mom would put in place for us. We’d go pick out calendars—one for each of us—and each morning we’d pick a sticker for the weather and then a sticker just for fun to put in our calendars.

Part of our morning routine with the calendars was for my brother Luke (only two years older than me) and me to recite the months of the year, the day’s date, our address, and our phone number to our older sister and brother—Arielle and Caleb. They already knew that info, but they were supposed to help us memorize it.

I don’t know what it is, but I just love thinking about that time in the mornings—excited about my new calendar, picking out stickers, sitting by my sister, rattling off our address to her and Caleb, probably wearing some jeans with embroidered flares and a nice, bulky, pink sweatshirt, Mom somewhere in the background getting other school stuff for the day out.

Even though it’s a mundane memory, I just loved being with them like that—simply and daily. I miss it.

  1. Picture fall as a character and write a small something from his/her pov.

This one is sooo good, but my creativity is nil probably because I was just crying about how my siblings and I are all grown up and won’t be doing the calendar stickers or address recitations together ever again and the happy-sadness drained me. So, I’m going to take a rain check on this one; maybe I’ll make it into a post for later this fall!

  1. Is there a song that makes you think of fall?

I have no idea why, but Lion’s Den by Little Chief makes me want to pull on socks, cozy up in a blanket, and weep for joy. Also, Awake My Soul by Mumford & Sons. Maybe it’s the mellow, calming nature of both songs. I’m not sure.

I just want to climb on a train, listen to those songs, and cry softly and happily as trees of golden orange pass my window. (Trains also make me think of fall? Apparently?) *writes the rest of this post listening to those songs on repeat*

  1. Wind or rain (or both)?

I say both, but if I have to choose, I say rain. I could write a love song to the rain, and maybe I will one day. (Or maybe it’ll be just a really bad poem because I can’t write songs or poetic poetry.)

  1. What is your favorite warm drink?

Chai lattes! Recently, I’ve been getting dirty chais (chai lattes with a shot of espresso), and one of the baristas at my local coffee shop recommended I try it made with half and half instead of whole milk.

Kids, get the chai made with half and half instead of whole milk (it has a special name, but I cannot for the life of me remember it).

I loved chai lattes already; the moment I tasted a chai made with half and half, I wanted to renew our vows (the vows between chai lattes and I, obviously). It was ridiculously, remarkably, and radically delicious. No. joke. (Chai is no joking matter, kids.)

  1. What do you look forward to doing the most in the fall?

Adding layers. I love adding layers.

I love helping the kids I nanny into their fleeces before we go play outside. I love tugging on a hoody. I love having the jackets hanging by the door.

I don’t know what it is about adding layers; it’s just so… warm and close. (I realize this question was probably supposed to be about apple picking or corn mazes or something, but I enjoy the little things.)

  1. What is the worst thing about fall?

Everyone loses their mind about fall.

Either they’re weeping about summer being over OR they’re weeping because they’ve been trying to break out their boots since July. Either they’re super sad and melancholy and whiny OR they’re shouting about fall from the rooftops.

Calm down, people.

  1. Give one tip or challenge for fall.

Regardless of whether you like fall or not, go into the fall of 2018 it with expectancy and hope.

Regardless of whether you’re experiencing a whole bunch of firsts or a whole bunch of lasts, live alive.

Make a fall bucket list and start checking things off.

Stop living in the past. Stop dreaming of the future. Embrace this fall day by day. Embrace this life day by day.

You will never again be with these people in this place at this time ever again, for when the fall of 2019 comes around, you will not be the same person you are now and neither will these people be the same as they are now.

You have been given the fall of 2018 to live once. Live it.


My Questions (I’m totally stealing some of these from Julia):

  1. Favorite fall time memory?
  2. Picture fall as a character and write something from his/her pov!
  3. Give one tip or challenge for this fall.
  4. What books are you reading/wanting to read this fall?
  5. Fall isn’t fall without…
  6. Of all the fall colors, which is your favorite and why?
  7. If you could dress up as anything for Halloween, who/what would you be? Why?
  8. What are ten words that remind you of fall (e.g. – crisp, golden, leaves)?
  9. Create a myth why about leaves change color and fall.
  10. What are you harvesting in your life right now (i.e. – what projects are coming to fruition, what things are you learning, etc.)?

The Tagged:


Pick one of these questions and answer it in the comments! And if you decide to take the tag, leave me the link!

With love,

Rosalie

p.s. – keep a weather eye on my Instagram tomorrow. Crazy things will be happening. O.o

p.p.s. – My dear fireflies (you know who you are)! A very exciting memo from High Command will be coming to your inbox next week. We’ll all just pretend I didn’t totally miss sending out a September memo.

Why The Lion King [in which some of the greatness of this story is explained]

The Lion King is one of my all-time favorite stories.

People tend to look at me funny when they discover this. Apparently, it’s sort of weird that it’s not only one of my favorite animated movies but one of my favorite movies period.

I don’t have very many hills I’d die on. But, the greatness of The Lion King is a hill I’d die on. As it turns out, it’s one of those rare things I’ll drive a stake into the ground and yell “FIGHT ME!” over.  Which is an unusual show of rabid hostility from me. But, alas, I am unashamed.

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hint: i am rafiki

So here we are with this post.

why the lion king

First, let’s dispel some common misconceptions.

Before we get into what The Lion King is all about (aka: why it is so amazing), we need to talk about what it isn’t about. These are just some things that I’ve noticed distract people.

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me to people every time they get confused about what this story is about

It is not about “hakuna matata.” It is not about having no worries or shirking responsibility or having stupid fun with the bros. If this story was about Timon and Pumba, then it might be about hakuna matata. But it’s not about Timon and Pumba.

It is not about how amazing James Earl Jones is as Mufasa. (Though, I mean, come on. He is the best and only Mufasa. #mufasaforever)

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It is also not about how sad Mufasa’s death was…

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but I mean, dang, it was pretty crushing

It is not about all the funny memes that can be created from the “where the light touches” scene (you know of what I speak).

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It is not about the circle of life or the spirits of dead kings being stars. While “The Circle of Life” is majestic song and a brilliant opening scene, this is not a story about the circle of life. The circle of life is a reoccurring symbol.

Now, onto the good stuff.

If the circle of life is a symbol, what does Mufasa mean when he tells Simba to take his place in the circle of life?

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It means, my friends, be who you were born to be. Do what you were designed to do.

It means take the responsibility. Grow up. The time for games is over. The time for childishness is over. (Instead of “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King,” it is “King of Pride Rock.)

It means that your potential isn’t about you, and it means that wasted potential harms not only you but also those you are meant to help.

It means get over yourself and your fear because this is so much bigger than just you.

It means that true greatness is not self-seeking. True greatness is taking on great burdens for the sake of others. It means step up. It means embrace the difficulty and the stress and the responsibility because you are the person for the job.

And it means that when you begin to step into your potential, when you put childishness behind you, it will not be easy, but nothing else will be so right.

That is what The Lion King is mainly about.

But there is yet more.

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In the beginning, we watched Rafiki happily and hopefully paint a little lion in his tree. He was happy and hopeful not because baby Simba was already a great king; Rafiki was happy and hopeful because of the great king he believed Simba would one day become—a great king who would lead the Pride Lands into another generation of abounding life.

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In the middle, we watched Rafiki smear his little lion painting in despair for he thought the bright future of the Pride Lands was dead with Mufasa and Simba.

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But. then.

Then, Rafiki learns Simba is still alive. And The Lion King is also about that moment: it is about Rafiki’s incredulous, raucous joy when he discovers that Simba is still alive.

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When hope had been gone for so long, and then suddenly finding that hope is alive and well. There is nothing like that wild rush of wild joy.

It is about how Mufasa looks down on Simba, a shape in the clouds, calling Simba to remember who he is.

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It is about how that rings in my bones as a call to remember who I am—whose child I am, whose slave I am, what gifts and callings have been written in my very cells.

It is about the strangely wonderful gooseflesh that flashes through when the rightful, true king at last takes his place.

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rightful king 5

It is about the rain that washes away the death of the night and begins the healing process.

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I love Simba and The Lion King for the other, greater stories they reminds me of.

When I see Simba making that run from the jungle back to the Pride Lands, I also see Leo from the Tales of Goldstone Wood trekking to find Rose Red.

When I watch Simba climb Pride Rock in the rain, I also see Aragorn finally embracing his calling and responsibility as the true king of Gondor, and I see all the hope and healing his return brought to the White City.

But more than that, I see Moses returning to Egypt after all those long years of exile, becoming the great and humble prophet he was knit together to be.

Most of all, I see Jesus. I see Jesus drinking the cup given Him by the Father, drinking it to the dregs. I see Him dying, victorious. I see Him rising, victorious. I see Him returning, victorious. Forever victorious.

I see the dead coming back to life, and the great, final healing He will bring about. I see all the prophets rejoicing—wildly, raucously—for the One, at last, fulfilling all their visions. I see every knee in heaven and on earth and under the earth bowing before our long-awaited true King. I see the saints and angels crying out, “All hail King Jesus.

This is the strange and wonderful power of stories.

Through characters that have never really drawn breath, echoes of truth resound. Those echoes ricochet deep in us, moving, encouraging, calling out, galvanizing.

Set in the breath-taking African plains, The Lion King is one of my favorite stories. And now you know why.

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What is one of your favorite stories? What is one of your favorite animated movies? Tell me why!

With love,

Rafiki Rosalie

p.s. – so, yes, feel free to send me The Lion King related gifts. (But if it’s hakuna matata related, I might burn it.)

My Dear Future, [an open letter]

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My Dear Future,

I do not know what you hold. You are the great unknown. You strike fear into my heart. I lose sleep. I bite my fingernails to nothing.

People ask me questions about you. I hate it when they do because then I must admit that I simply do not know you, my own dearest, daunting Future.

You are the next three days.

You are the next three months.

You are the next three years.

You are the next three decades.

Oh, my dear Future. I see so many painful inevitabilities. I see in you unexpected death, broken relationships, rejections, heartache, tears, confusion, new failings, and goodbyes that will break me.

And what is still more frightening is the knowledge that you, my dear Future, quickly become my Present. In what seems like a single pulse of my heart, tomorrow will become today, and next year will become this year.

I will make goals that I will not meet. I will let relationships dissolve. I will watch people I once knew grow and change from a distance. I will make promises only to break them. I will start days with joy and singing and end them with silence.

But I try to put on a smile when it comes to you, my dear Future. I make my plans, answer the questions that just won’t stop, and pretend I know what this whole thing is about.

I don’t know how to talk about you, my fear-drenched Future. I don’t know how to ask for help, am terrified to show weakness, for it seems that once people realize just how much I don’t know, there will be blood in the water. I fear rumors and raised-eyebrows and being seen for what I really am.

But now I see how I’ve gotten this all so wrong. I see that I’ve been following the wrong stars in my thinking. It is, as it turns out, ridiculously simple (but then I am often ridiculously slow).

Here it is: you, my dear Future, are not about me.

My Savior King is the centerpiece, the end of you, the sum of you, my dear Future.

And the fear I have for you, my dear Future, is treason. The fear I have for you—the kind that changes the way I think and make decisions all on an axis of self—should not belong to you. My Savior King is the only One with a rightful claim to my fear, my attention, my decision-making—all on an axis of Jesus.

In so many ways, you are unknown, my dear Future. Unknown to me. But not to my Savior King. And when I am afraid, I can trust in him, can remember who he is. Because my Savior King is the Most High God, the Lord of hosts, King Jesus.

And you, oh Future, hold only my good and his glory.

One day, someday in you, my dear Future, he will return in his glory, and on that day, he will be known as God and King in all the earth.

That day seems so far off, but it is the most real thing I know of you, my dear Future. And it is that one known, promised day that must define every breath drawn into my lungs.

The goals for my near future—the days leading up to my Savior King’s return—are all at once fuzzy and in sharp focus: love God; love people; worship; make disciples; magnify my Maker.

These are my next three days.

These are my next three months.

These are my next three decades.

These are the rest of my life.

And, no, my dear Future, I don’t know what that will always look like—where or with whom. And, yes, I know I will make many mistakes. But I am by no means significant enough or powerful enough to derail the plans of my Savior King.

And when the goodbyes break me, he will lift my head. And when I fail in new ways and all the old ways too, he will pick me up and remind me that his grace covers me. And when relationships fall apart, he will tell me that love covers all offenses.

And, yes, dear Future, I am still afraid of you, but my Savior King does not condemn me for even this treason.

Instead, every day, bit by bit, he calls me to grow more and more confident in him. Every day he gives me what I need to walk on water until one day I will look at you, my dear Future, with no fear or dread. I will be treasonous no more for I will remember always that the greatness of my Savior King knows no equal.

My dear Future, my hopes and dreams live in you.

So I will build my life—this short existence on this pale blue dot—upon the Cornerstone. And he—not I—will bring to pass things more splendid than I can imagine, treasures of silver and gold that will echo into the eternity I spend with him.

My dear Future, I do not know most of what you hold, but that is okay.

With love,

Rosalie

The Stories We Will Tell [musings from my recurring existential crisis about Christian art]

This post is five years and six tries in the making.

It is not my usual trying-to-be-helpful/5-tips-for-xyz/oh-and-here’s-a-book-and-a-playlist-I-recommend-on-the-subject sort of post. I already tried to write this post in those formats and a few styles as well. It didn’t work.

So this is more journal entry/stream-of-consciousness.

I am a Christian, and I am a storyteller. Welcome to my angsty thought life regarding the marriage of my Christianity and my storytelling.

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This is me, for the last five years, about every story I’ve written:

I’m a Christian. Do I write Christian stories? Or am I a Christian who tells stories?

Is this too preachy? Or is this subject matter too dark?

I’m twenty years old. Am I old enough to write this sort of stuff? Will I ever be “old enough” to write this stuff?

My mom will read this. Will she squirm?

People at my church may read this. Will they judge me?

People I’ve never met may read this. Will this help them?

Should I paint the world and humanity as it is, how it should be, or how it could be?

On one hand this story has blatant themes of true greatness, healing, and hope. But it is steeped in kidnapping, stonings, family dysfunction, betrayal, murder, torture, idolatry, and self-obsession. (False Gods)

Will the Christian community condemn me for this? Or are they willing to see into the dark to see why it’s written like this? Can they see that every layer of darkness and depravity has a role to play in contrasting every layer of light and goodness?

Will the non-Christian community scorn me for this attempt at art? Or will this break down barriers and show Jesus to those who have never known him?

Am I writing to entertain, challenge the comfortable, befriend the lonely, raise questions, answer questions, tell it how it is, tell it how it can be, glorify God, or all the above?

On one hand this story showcases one small step to healing. But it is filled with anger, bitterness, grief, and violent death. (Start With Their Names)

Is my Christianity coming through too obnoxiously in this story? Or does this look no different from what the world has to give?

If I include a God-figure, am I capable of writing it well? If I cannot write it well, how do I portray a world without God? Is it wrong for me to portray a world without God? Is that some sort of betrayal of the truest, most real Person in the universe?

Why does it feel like I’m overthinking this? Why does it feel like I’m not thinking about it enough?

These people who I love and respect think that Christian art in general is not done well. And they think I shouldn’t write Christian stories. These other people who I love and respect think that I shouldn’t go too dark, are concerned when my stories aren’t moral or light enough. Which is right? Are either of them wrong? Is it possible for me to execute overtly Christian art well?

On one hand this is a story of new life, light, love, grace, and family. And in its backdrop sit shame, extramarital sex, abandonment, and disownment. But without the latter, can the former shine so brightly? (Unexpected)

Am I reaching too far with this story? Can even a fraction of this vision in my head be achieved on the page?

Do I have what it takes to tackle all of this? Do I have what it takes to bridge this gap between excellent art and the Christian community? Does it matter at all if I have “what it takes” or not as long as I pursue God’s glory through excellent storytelling?

Should there even be such a thing as specifically Christian art? Should I write stories for other Christians, or should I write stories for non-Christians? Is it possible to do both?

At what point should I just quit caring what people think and just work to tell a good story?

What even defines a good story? Can there be an excellent story that isn’t “good”? Or does excellence denote goodness? And what sort of goodness are we talking about here? Moral goodness, craft excellence, or something else?

Will it really kill me to just write fluffy stories since those don’t tend to step on any toes? Oh, wait, those do step on the toes of the people who don’t appreciate the unique value of a fluffy story. What now?

On one hand, this story is all about perseverance, responsibility, and self-sacrifice. And yet it also includes mild gore and torture while touching on genocide. (That Last Breath)

Will people think differently of me if I write dark stories? Is that a bad thing? Does it really matter what they think of me?

If they will condemn me because of truth of human nature (aka: depravity) in my stories, do I really care what they think?

If they will insult me because of the flaming arrows pointing to Jesus in my stories, do I really care what they think?

Speaking of Jesus, what does he think about all this? What does he call me to do in this?

Can I live with people misunderstanding my intentions, insulting me, or condemning me as far as my storytelling goes if I know I’m writing what I’ve been called to write? Basically, do I really believe Jesus’ opinion is enough to render all the others moot?

There is no good way to finish this post, and so I’m going to drop the bookend here.

These questions (and more) come back again and again with every story that I write. The only thing I really know for sure is that I’m called to pursue excellence in storytelling for the glory of Jesus.

I must learn to tune out the conflicting, raging opinions around me and focus in on Jesus and what magnifies him. It’s not always going to be obvious. It’s not always going to be subtle. But it must always be the motivation and end of every story I write.


Thank you to Caleb Valentine, Janie Valentine, Katie Grace, Nadine Brandes, Tony Reinke, Stephen E. Burnett, Jackie Hill PerryMary Weber, Tosca LeeLindsay Franklin, Steve Laube, and Aimee Meester; though you may not have known it, your friendship, books, teaching, example, discussions, podcasts, and/or blog posts have been helping me think through this issue for quite some time.

Thank you to Daddy for not being freaked out by the wide variety of stories along the Christian storytelling spectrum that I’ve thrown at you.

And thank you, Jesus, for who you are. You are not tame. You are not dark. You are not clean. You are completely holy. You are endlessly creative. You are always good.

Hopefully this question-filled post will help you figure out the kind of stories you will tell.

With love,

Rosalie

P.S. – sorry for being AWOL last week, my friends. My brain hiccuped, and then it was too late to put together a good post for last week. So here we are.

P.P.S. – what about you? What’s the deal with the stories you tell?