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I fear I’m becoming more and more like my grandmother as I pepper every conversation with thoughts about how fast time is moving.  But it’s true.  I can’t believe it’s June and I can’t imagine where the first half of 2013 has gone.  For me, it’s been consumed with three main things:  book promo, ALS and ALS.

ALS gets to count for two things because it requires double the resources that anything in life ever has or, I suspect, ever will.

The past two months in the land of ALS have been difficult, draining and honestly, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.  Steve finds himself in a season in which nearly everything he does requires herculean efforts, most especially – breathing and eating.  Consequently, he has to fight for every scrap of emotional fortitude in order to keep himself on top of the wave instead of underneath.  It’s incredible and awful to watch.  I can’t begin to articulate how much I feel A) impressed and in awe of the man I married and B) utterly inadequate to be all that he needs.

I’ve never had a front row seat to a battle of this magnitude and, I don’t want to be dramatic, but I can tell you that I hit a point about a month ago where I realized: I am being changed by this.  I’m being changed in ways that are wonderful and ways that might need a little healing when we get to the other side, but I know with certainty that I am not the same girl who went into this war three years ago.  I know my thoughts sound a bit murky and that’s only because they are.  I’m working very hard right now to sift the gold from the chaff, the beauty from the ashes.  Some days it’s easy.  The strong stuff rises to the top and we float with it, immersed in the wonder of being held by a God who has not abandoned us to this process.  We feel His life surrounding, keeping, sustaining.  And some days finding the beauty in ALS is like walking uphill through quicksand.

And herein lies  the conundrum at the heart of my writing life:  how much do I focus on this disease and how much do I try to dodge and weave it’s reality?  Because in the beginning, I thought I could. I thought I was able to pick bits and pieces and sew stories out of other, more beautiful thread.  Thread that is easier for people to read.  Thread that might possibly make my life look prettier and more together than it is.  But now I see that a neat compartmentalization of this battle is not just difficult, it’s impossible.  My life is sewn with two colors right now and not just one.  This one thing – this steady erosion of my husband’s strength – is packaged up with everything else.  It’s the pop-up at the bottom of the tv screen (boo!), it’s the flavor in the soup that you just can’t seem to shake, it’s your neighbors wind chimes that sometimes are less-clangy than others, but you always know they’re there.  It’s our reality and reality for us has gotten pretty noisy and bossy in the past few weeks which means that I can write airy sentences about graduation or summer or how I really love my Nutribullet (I really, seriously do), but all those words are weighted with anchors, keeping them tied to the shore of this new reality.

And so sometimes I worry.  Not for me, because writing is cathartic for me.  I worry for you.  I worry that the people who love us will grow weary of this war and it’s sorrow.  Our hope has been to bring awareness to a disease that so few people ever see up close…and so I think I’ve tried to put the best face on it, lest our story becomes just…too much.  Too sad.  Too long.

But real is real and life is life and God is either good in the Too Much or He’s not good at all.  And I can tell you:  He is.  So good.

I recently read a quote (and I’m too lazy to look up the author, but I’ll tell you it wasn’t me) that said:  we are not as those to grieve without hope, but we are not as those who hope without grief.  It’s exactly right.  Hope and grief for me right now are my inhale/exhale.  They are the one-two punch that drives me to the one true Source of everything.  And I hope that our story – our real, true story – moves you to Him as well.

Dear Tess,

In spite of all my graduation-induced protests that “this can’t be happening already!” I think I have always known you this way.  You have always been my most grownuplike kid.

From the time you were a baby, you were the one who would only cry as long as she absolutely, positively had to.  It seemed from the very moment you would fall off your bike or skin your knee, you were working out ways to deal with it and be a big girl before the first tear ever fell.

You are strong.

You were born into a noisy home and you are not.  I’m sorry.  Sort of.  Except I’ve watched you learn your own way with words.  You’ve learned to frame them like a rare painting rather than toss them like instagram confetti the way the rest of us tend to.  In a fast, reactionary culture, where opinions fly willy-nilly, you just don’t roll that way.

You are wise.

I’ve watched countless people make their way through the jungle of high school.  They change their ways, their hair, their style, their friends, their faith.  But not you.  You are who you are.

You are consistent.

In spite of all these strong, steady words, you are also real and rare and deeper water than your world can see.  When the storm swept up on our family’s shore on your 16th birthday, I watched you closely.  I worried prayers up to Jesus about my girl who doesn’t talk a lot and how would I ever know if she was okay about her dad and what if she’s sinking and I just can’t tell?  But you were steady for the longest time.  Then the sinking day came.  A day dark and sad and tumultuous and I watched you dig deep for the anchor of Jesus, for Truth; I saw you work your way to authentic peace – and you’ve done it a million times since.  It’s a skill not many have learned, especially not so soon.  I wish you didn’t need it, but I’m so glad you have it.

In a chaotic and riotous world, you know peace.  Because you know Peace.  The real One.  Much is still mysterious about you to me, but this one thing I know:  you know Him.  You have dug your heels into the refuge of His word and you will not be shaken, sweet Tess. Have the courage to dream wild, windy Jesus dreams.  Bravely face the world outside your window, the adventures stretching out beyond this moment. You’re ready.

You will stand firm and you will face whatever comes your way and do you know what has prepared you for this day?  It’s probably not what you think.

What has made you stronger than you ever wanted to be, my sweet little introvert, is all those times all those people in all those stores asked you,

“Where’d you get that red hair?”

That’s what.

I love you more than words, more than songs, more than a long dinner on the deck on a warm evening. I love you more than you love french toast.  (I think you get it now.)

I’m a million ways proud to be your mom,

Me.

*Photo credit

I’ve recently heard from many people who are aspiring writers, looking for advice on the publishing process.  I am only two books in myself, so my experience isn’t very deep (and it also has been atypical of most writers I’ve talked with), but I do regularly recommend a couple of resources and one piece of advice:

1. Read this blog by literary agent, Rachelle Gardner – it’s full of stuff you need to know before you waste your time writing the wrong kind of book proposal or query letter.  Also worth reading is Margaret Feinberg’s Writer’s Boot Camp.  She pulls no punches and that’s what you need even if it isn’t what you want. (In fact, most of the writing, editing, publishing process flips the need/want equation on its ear, so get used to that right out of the gate.)

2.  Remember this timeless principle lifted straight from the pages of an ancient book with pretty good staying power and sales numbers:

Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord.  {Psalm 102:18}

I’m not presuming I’m writing the Bible here, but I do very badly want to write words that will still be relevant and readable when my dance on this spinning globe is done.  Writing requires such a weighty investment of time, energy and discipline -I would hate to look back and see that I chose the wrong message or spoke too soon, spitting unrefined and unworthy words out into a world already drowning in nonsense and noisy opinions.

On my desk, is a paperweight inscribed with the words of Benjamin Franklin: Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

When it’s all said, done and written, I’d really love to do both.

So, a fun question for this beautiful, sunny Monday:  if you had just three books to spend the rest of your life with, which three would they be?

*Photo credit.

*Photo Credit

The comments flickered on my computer screen, one after the next, each one seemed more mean-spirited than the last.  My stomach hurt. I like to be liked.  I like people to admire my work and this feedback could in no way be construed as admiration.

A small piece I had written years ago on my old blog had been re-purposed by a  popular web site and readers were not happy with it.  I shut my lap top and went for a little walk, spinning the questions through my head.   I debated my faceless critics and formed a brilliant argument in my brain.  The argument went like this:  you’re right.  My theology was thin on this one, but it wasn’t written to convince anyone, it was written as a small bite to get people to dig deeper and figure out what they believe themselves.  But also, you’re picking out splinters and missing big planks of truth…and I frankly think you’re being a little mean about it.  That was pretty much my whole argument.  And I thought that, as arguments go, it was quite contrite.

But then, I stopped talking and started listening and I heard in my heart the kind voice of the Holy Spirit, saying, “This?  This whole moment of angst and anger and frustration?  This is not about them.  It’s about you.  It’s not about ten people who don’t know you and never will.  This is about humility…and all it can produce in your life.”

Yeah, my life message is that even though we like to avoid suffering, it can produce amazing things in us if we’ll let it.  So, apparently, can humility.  Shoot.  It’s hard to stay silent and let it work.  But work it does.  And it is – I can feel it.  It’s making me more soft and more committed to the law of kindness in the way I communicate with people.  It’s digging deep into the soft ground of my identity and taking out the weeds of pride and perfection that choke out better fruit.  And most of all, it’s making me understand yet again that one of the most beautiful parts of life with Jesus, is the unconditional love He offers…love that wraps around us on the days we feel awesome and on the days we feel disastrous.

It’s good love, strong love, and I’m so grateful for it.  And I’m not defending mean-spirited people or a dog-eat-dog mindset on the internet (which I believe I addressed here.)  I also won’t go back and re-read, just to make myself really humble, because I’m not that cool and I don’t think He’s requiring it of me.  But I am learning a lot from my little battle…which just goes to show:  even the battle for humility can be beautiful (shameless book tie-in here.)

Still learning,

Bo

*Photo credit.

(Photo: Sue Ogrocki, AP)

I had a post written for today that was about something not entirely unimportant at the time I wrote it, but it quickly became unimportant as I watched rescuers search frantically for children in the rubble of an Oklahoma school.

In moments like this, everything gets really crowded with words and noise and it can feel like sandpaper to the one who is experiencing such deep tragedy. It’s hard to feel like the train wreck the whole world is watching and talking about.

So today, we sit in silent petition for the people of Oklahoma City.  We direct our prayers toward the God who sees and hears and knows and we trust that He is able to rescue mightily and redeem abundantly.

Til Thursday,

Bo

Nine months ago, I wrote this post about the first time I walked the River Trail without Steve.  I explained how it had been something special we shared together and so tackling it without him was all flavors of sad and difficult.

I walked the trail often last summer after that post, but never by myself.  I didn’t feel ready.

Two weeks ago, I went back alone.  And I’m happy to report, it was great!  Seriously, not even a little bit of angst.  I walked and thought and didn’t have one negative emotion about being one on the trail instead of two.  As I drove home later, I wondered: why?  What made the difference from last year to this year?  A couple of answers spring to mind, all built around the idea that I’m 270 days further into this battle than I was last year:

• 270 more days of seeing God’s purpose in our fight.
• 270 more days of leaning hard on His strength and discovering He never drops me.
• 270 more days of letting His word be a light to the dark places
• Countless more “alone” experiences under my belt, which comes with the keen awareness:  I survived!
• 270 more days of strength-training in conforming my thoughts to the mind of Christ.

I share this to encourage you.  Battle seasons often feel endless and senseless, but strength is being built inside of you as you fight fair and well.  Suffering produces endurance, endurance character, character hope – and hope does not disappoint.   Last year I felt weak and unable…this year, I can clearly see that suffering has built something strong inside of me that wasn’t there 270 days ago.  Battles don’t last forever.  Joy comes in the morning – and with it, something more beautiful: stability and security that we may not have known had the battle not knocked our legs out from under us for a season.

Where are you in the fight today?  Have hope.  He is for you and not against you.  He is for your beauty, your growth and your joy.  He is.  I promise.

Stronger,

Bo

Oh, I love this guest post by my sweet friend, Stephanie Nelson. Never let go of hope.

Photo credit: http://www.etsy.com/transaction/39221728

Hope.

It was her middle name. 

All we knew was that she was on her way; we didn’t know her gender or her diagnosis yet.  One Sunday morning, our pastor preached about hope, defining it as “confident expectation.”  I leaned over and whispered to my husband that I liked it for a name if we have a girl.  He playfully rolled his eyes at me, standing firmly in his resolution not to discuss baby names until we find out the gender. 

But I tucked it deeply into my heart. 

It was tucked into her heart too.

Evelyn Hope was born with so many congenital heart defects that at 12 days old, in the NICU of a prestigious research hospital, the doctors told us there was no hope for her and that we should let her go.

I knew where she was going and I knew I’d go there too someday.  I had days that were full of faith, but also days that were full of tears.  Sometimes the line between the two is very blurry, especially when your eyes are puffy, and brimming with a constant and thin veil of salty water that runs down your cheeks at all the moments you wish it wouldn’t.

The truth is I that I had never before really longed for Heaven.  It was a default option because I didn’t want to go to Hell.  I realize this isn’t very spiritual of me, but it’s true.  So much of grieving is learning when to hold on and when to let go.  Having – and losing – Evelyn was God’s gift to me so that I could place my hope in His promise of Heaven. 

Letting go of what I thought my life should be.

Holding this view of Heaven before me every day.

Heaven is where I will embrace her again, and spend endless days by her side worshipping Jesus together.  Knowing this gives me courage that I can greet every morning with faith, and rest in knowing that I am in His hands.  My trials and triumphs are hand-crafted by Him in order to bring me into a deeper relationship with Him.  Even when I want to call it quits in the midst of the dark days and even when I feel that sadness might rend my heart, I hold on to hope.  Knowing Christ more fully is worth the pain it might take to get there.  And spending eternity with Evelyn, compared to the breath that is this life, is just the icing on the cake. 

I did let Evelyn go.

But I will never let go of hope. 

Stephanie Nelson is the author of “See You in a Breath,” and wife to Chris and mother to Clara and Jonathan. Her passions, in order are: Knowing Christ, loving her family and church, writing, reading, politics, and talking her friend’s ears off.

Aw, man, you guys -these mother’s day entries were just amazing!  My poor mom had her work cut out for her.  Incidentally, I never asked her if she would please pick the winner – I just typed it out knowing that she’ll do anything for me (I’m the youngest so I have an indestructible sense of entitlement.)  That’s how cool my mom is – even though it did turn out to be a treacherous task for her -she wanted everyone to win and had a reason why they should.  I’m so glad I didn’t have to make the decision even though I’m not sure she’s still speaking to me. I kid.  And I also owe her a fancy Mother’s Day gift.

The winner of our 2013 Mother’s Day Giveaway is Stefanie’s mom!  Here’s Stefanie’s entry:

I want to nominate my mother because she has been an amazing example to my sister and I of how to walk through the struggles of life with grace and faith. My mother became a widow at the age of 30. She had two young daughters ages 2 (me) and 3. My father was murdered on the job as an armored car guard. Throughout the last 28 years my mom taught my sister and I to have faith through hard times, to forgive others who wrong us, and to always trust that Gods plan is bigger and greater than what our physical eyes see. We always saw strength, even behind the tears and I never once ever heard her be angry or mad at the men who chose to kill my father. I believe that is why it was so easy for me to forgive because I was shown that i didn’t need to live my life in hate and anger but in the freedom of forgiveness. I would love to be able to honor my mother because she has been such an outstanding mother and I feel like I never give her enogh credit for everything she did for my sister and I growing up. I would love to bless her because of the amazing friend she is to me now!

Beautiful!  Stefanie, shoot me an email (bo@bostern.com) and tell me where you’d like us to send your mom’s gifts.

There’s one other entry I’d like to share with you, but it came in email form rather than as a comment on the blog, so I need to get permission first.  Bottom line, mom’ing is the hardest and most wonderful job in the world, and those who do it well are worthy of all our words of honor and all our love.  I’m certain that Mother’s Day in heaven is going to be outrageous because I KNOW Jesus loves moms.

Okay…I’ve got a crazy week ahead at The Well and I could not be more excited about it.  Tonight’s session is one I’ve never taught before and, frankly, it’s a word I’ve never been brave enough to share. Prayers for courage and strength are welcome.

Happy Thursday,

Bo

Way back when I was young and nimble-minded, I wrote a college paper on why women should not speak, teach or preach (to men) in church.  It was a wide-load philosophy built entirely on the spindly shoulders of 1 Timothy 2:12 doctrinally.  Emotionally, it was fueled by a determined resistance to the growing tide of feminism which seemed to be crushing femininity as it rolled through my generation.   I’ll also add that I wrote the paper in a frantic, caffeine-fueled all-nighter which probably included more accidental dozing than actual studying.  My point is: I didn’t do the work to prove my point and I didn’t really feel I needed to because I wanted to be a lawyer and not a pastor.  I didn’t need a theological construct to become an attorney so I threw together a reactionary position paper using poorly developed hermeneutics and a fair number of impressively astute words (sometimes that’s all you need to land a B+.)  

Today, I am a pastor on staff at a large, respected church.  In fact, I am a teaching pastor charged with oversight of the scope and sequence of our church-wide discipleship continuum.  Our lead pastor directs the planning of our corporate messages, but I am a voice at the table and from the platform, regularly teaching both the men and women during our four weekend services. 

So what happened between paragraph one and paragraph two?  Twenty years and so much learning happened.  Some of the learning was experiential and some was intentional, but all of it has been both beautifully freeing and incredibly frustrating.  (My husband, by the way, wrote his college paper on why women should be pastors so he spent a lot of years waiting for me to catch up and demonstrating an annoying lack of angst about the whole issue.)

It started innocently enough with one little character study on Peter.  I remember goose bumps popping as the deeper truths of his life jumped off the page and into my heart.   I also remember discovering the works of old, dead theologians and weeping in the library as the timeless truth of their devotion to the Word of God pulsated through thick sentences, condensed and compacted by a lifetime of learning.  I filled notebooks with brilliant quotes and bullet-pointed application and Greek and Hebrew etymology.

Finally, on a quiet Saturday, I placed a new legal pad on the table in front of me and, without knowing why, wrote out a sermon.  I gathered my learning like soft yarn, weaving and crafting it into something I hoped would be a warm blanket for somebody somewhere, someday.  It was not a small or safe decision.  In fact, my heart raced as I did it, almost like sneaking into the men’s restroom and hoping not to get caught and even as I write that, I know how ridiculous it probably sounds to you, dear reader.  The thing is: I knew I was opening my heart up to this bold new idea that maybe – just maybe – God wanted to use my desire to argue a case somewhere other than a courtroom.  This was very frightening because I still had the matter of my own theology to deal with and also – have you checked the want ads for female teaching positions in the church recently?  Yeah, dismal.   So, as I wrote out the points of that sermon on that brilliant Saturday, I was distinctly aware of two really big, really opposing issues brewing just beneath my legal pad:  1) nothing in life could make me more happy or fulfilled than studying and teaching eternal truth   2) the chances of anyone ever letting me were slim to none. 

In spite of the contrary nature of my calling, I pressed on.  I kept writing messages even though I couldn’t imagine ever having the chance to share them with anyone.  And I dug deep into the issue of women in ministry leadership in the Bible.  I took a hard look at the prohibitions of Paul and weighed them next to the rest of his words about women, men and submission.  I researched women like Miriam, Deborah, Esther, Huldah and Ruth.  I even (fearfully) waded into the waters of Proverbs 31.  And finally, I looked at the life of Jesus and His profound, revolutionary acceptance of women.  I emerged from that study no longer wobbling, no longer wondering, but certain that women are qualified to lead, teach, preach, write, pastor, prophesy and pray out loud.  Even in America.

My theology developed at the same time I did.  We landed at a Foursquare church where our lead pastor had not a single shred of hesitation about using a qualified woman in the pulpit.  Some pastors talk a good game about permitting women to exercise their God-given gifts, but never actually give them the chance to take a swing at the ball.  My pastor gave me the opportunity to fly, to fail and to grow as a communicator.  Even though a handful of men stayed home or walked out when they found out I was speaking, he didn’t budge an inch from his determination to give women a voice in our community of faith.  He consistently pointed out in meetings that for every man who stayed away when I spoke, plenty others invited their friends.  After ten years on staff, few people question it any more.  When they do, our standard response is to give them the research done by our denomination on women in ministry leadership and to remind them, “If you don’t agree with women teaching in church, you’ll have no problem finding a church in our city where they’ll never step foot on the stage.”  This is a subject on which smart, godly people disagree and that’s okay.  There’s a church for every mindset.

Because of the male leaders in my life who have encouraged, strengthened and enabled the gifts of women to grow and be exercised in our church, I see these positive developments:

1. Female voices are welcomed at all leadership tables in our church.  Please, can we be honest and say that women and men have innately different views on many things including money, children, sex, work and marriage and both viewpoints are valuable for creating a strong, beautiful community?  Though I am currently the only woman on the teaching team, I know that women’s unique take on life is represented in all the decisions our church is making.  The female perspective doesn’t dominate the conversation, but I don’t believe anyone’s opinion dominates.  We live in joyful (mostly joyful) submission to one another. 
2.  Young women see and believe that there is room for them and for their gifts in the church.  They are not just dreaming of which strong leader they can marry, they’re also dreaming of what they can become and how their unique gifts might nourish the house of God.  
3. Young men see that women are more than bodies and beauty and that awareness will serve them well when they date and choose a wife and work a job alongside women. 

I’ve occasionally spoken at other churches where they’ve asked if it was okay to introduce me as something other than a ‘pastor’.  I have no problem with this.  Titles mean very little to me and I don’t want something so trivial to alienate a listener.  Recently, however, I wrote a book and it was a lot of work. When my publisher asked for a bio, I wrestled with it for days.  What if that one word triggered a doctrinal bias that prevented people from reading a message of hope and life when they most needed it?  I thought and prayed and wished for the day when entire organizations weren’t required to keep the lines so firmly drawn between men and women.  I dreamed of the glory of the garden and those days before the fall and the curse disrupted the beautiful, free flow of community and comradeship enjoyed by Adam and Eve.  I prayed and wished and dreamed and then I wrote what I know to be true:  Bo Stern is a teaching pastor at Westside Church.  And that’s my journey.

If you are a woman who would like to hone her communication gifts, there’s still time to sign up for my Preach Like a Girl track at The Well Conference this very week. I won’t be teaching the theology of women in ministry because I think every person needs to do the work of building a belief system; but I will have resources available to help.   I’d sure love to see you there!

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Not gonna lie, it’s been a tough season on our battlefield.  The fight has not been as much with ALS, but with a host of other issues like all three cars needing big repairs in the past month, several expensive items to replace, an unexpected tax bill and an odd assortment of stress inducers too varied and tedious to mention.

None of these things would be enough to sink a ship individually, but all piled together they have created quite a force and I have been fighting the feeling that we are surrounded on all sides.

Battle seasons like this always push me to my knees.  There in the comfort of face-in-the-carpet nearness to God, I ask the hard questions:  is this an attack?  Is there repentance needed in my life?  Are we uncovered?  Is there an area of delayed obedience?  It’s not that I believe God sends problems to those who don’t get everything right, I just want to live in a way that is lined up with His principles.  So many times King David begged God to show him His way.  That’s what I want.   I want to walk in HIS way, knowing His way leads to life.  Other paths may seem attractive, but they lead to something less-than-life.

After asking the questions and waiting for answers, here is where I landed on the ‘why’ of this current season of life:  these are our Amalekites.  My bible heroes were trained to greatness by honest-to-goodness enemies.  Sweaty Philistines.   The fiery furnace. Roaring lions.  Nero’s sword.  They faced famine and peril on every side and came out shining like gold.  Refined.  Strengthened. Beautiful.

I live in an era of relative peace, comfort and freedom.  This can create a false sense of my own goodness, intelligence and power.  I can be totally certain that I am trusting God with everything, but it’s the prospect of losing something dear to me that reveals the truth of my trust.  You would think that facing a giant like ALS would put all the others in perspective.  You would imagine that a silly car repair would have very little power to steal my peace or purpose.  But I’m finding that all these giants seem to work on a different part of my faith.  Financial giants reveal some holes in my armor that need filling and fixing.   I can look back over the past few weeks and see the issues that have impacted me the most and I can clearly see the areas where I need more strength, more discipline, more trust.

So, I’m thankful that my home is not surrounded by flame-throwing Philistines.  But I’m suiting up to face the enemies that are at the door with faith and five stones.  They cannot kill me.  They can, however, make me stronger than I was before I met ‘em.

With hope for some tumblin’ giants,

Bo

*Photo Credit