Eleora Book Launch and A Few Favorite Things

The culmination of a love affair with story, a lifelong dream, hard work, perseverance, and heaping helpings of God's presence and relentless grace arrived at my doorstep on Wednesday afternoon, May 10, 2017. It was an exciting moment, even if it didn't fully sink in.

A storm of unwelcome news, heartbreaking events, exhausting days, and weighty decisions distracted me from the joy of holding my book for the first time. Still, the event broke through the clouds of an otherwise bleak week. What a precious gift.

And what can I say about these precious little joy bombs?

They were so excited with me. And so concerned when I found a typo on the back cover of my sample copy. I love these two. They teach me so much about life, God, and how to love people. Like how to...

Rejoice with those who rejoice,
and weep with those who weep.

As I've turned my burdens over to Jesus and gotten some sleep (praise run), I've been able to enter into book release and end-of-school-year related excitement.

Favorite Things

1. Friends texting and posting selfies with Eleora.

2. Sara made her own "Eleora book." How cute is that?

3. The book release party my parents threw for me.

4. Superman's dessert making skills. He is systematically learning to make all my favorite desserts. His lemon ice box cake and chocolate pie are slap yo mama good. The other desserts pictured aren't his, so I didn't try them, but I hear they were amazing as well.

5. Visiting with friends and family at the party.

6. Also, my pink and purple unicorn hair. So. much. fun. Props to my sister Hannah for the awesome job she did. And no, I'm not rebelling or having a midlife crisis. I like it, okay?

7. Seeing reviews pop up on Amazon.

8. Hearing that people who don't even know me actually like the book.

9. Finding out that people who don't often read are reading my book.

10. My friend Emily's reaction texts to the story. You should all pray for a friend like Emily (pictured above). Seriously, she is one of the bravest and best, having stuck with me in sickness and in health and now sending me sweet and hilarious reactions as she reads.

What Now?

My first summer objective is to physically, emotionally, and spiritually recover from the last few weeks. This looks like spoiling myself with lots of sleep, time outside, fun with the kids, fiction only, a family vacation to the mountains, a birthday getaway with Superman to NOLA, and plenty of time with the Lord.

I need to schedule book signings and contact a few local bookstores about stocking my novel. I don't know a ton about marketing and book promotion, so I'll be learning as I go. (Experiences, ideas, and helpful articles are welcome.) I'll keep everyone updated on upcoming events here and on my new author page on Facebook. Like me.

I'm currently in the planning phase of the sequel to Eleora. Ready or not, I'll start writing the first week of June. I want draft one DONE by the end of summer.

In the midst of R&R and book shenanigans, I'll also be learning all I can about homeschooling. To my great surprise and evolving delight, we've decided to educate our kids at home next school year. Home school wasn't in the plan books--mine anyway--but when the Lord extended the invitation to try it, I couldn't refuse. More on that later.

Meanwhile, you can help this fledgling author in the following ways:

1. Buy my book. 

2. Read it.

3. Review it. Amazon, Goodreads, and More Than A Review are all good places to review a book.

4. Share book-related posts, my author page, my website, etc. on social media.

5. Tell people about the book. Word of mouth is powerful and inexpensive marketing. If the people you tell are authors or church leaders or are involved in publishing or sex-trafficking ministry, this is especially helpful. Reviews from moderately well-known to well-known individuals are HUGE for baby authors like me.

6. Buy a copy for a friend.

7. Download the book on Kindle Unlimited for free. Every download helps.

Thank you so much for all the love and support! A girl couldn't ask for better friends and family.

The Best Night of My Life

Life holds several great moments. Memorable vacations, holidays and birthdays. Graduations. Engagement. Your wedding day. The births of your children. My personal highlight reel is pretty spectacular, despite my desert years. So maybe the other night wasn't really the best night of my life, but it was pretty darn close.

Jesus had me like...

I don't remember how many people I've led to the Lord. Not that many, but enough to lose count and no one recently. On Monday, August 1, 2016, I had the indescribable privilege of leading both of my children to the Lord.

Bet I don't forget that.

The moment took me by surprise. For several reasons. First, I was tired and kind of grumpy. Ten minutes prior, Micah had thrown a fit because I let Sara lick a drop of honey off my finger and not him. So like any good descendant of Juanita Chapman, I lectured him on the general unfairness of life--I may or may not be guilty of having mentioned starving kids in Africa--and reinforced my refusal to be held hostage by a standard of equality.

Ain't. happenin'.

So Micah didn't even like me when we sat down for our bedtime reading and devotional. Fortunately, Shel Silverstein loosened things up a bit before we got into real things.

But there's also my whole deal with the famous "sinner's prayer." Before my Baptist friends cry heresy, let me explain. 

I've seen way too many people pray a magic "save me from hell" prayer, go on like nothing happened and convince themselves they're Christians. The ABCs saved them. Once saved, always saved. Nothing to worry about.

While there's nothing inherently wrong with the ABCs or the sinner's prayer, unless there's friendship with God which leads to genuine transformation from the inside out, there's a decent possibility that nothing happened. At least, nothing that lasted. 

For myself, I don't believe I had a moment of salvation. Rather, it happened in stages and is--arguably--still happening. 

"But he who endures to the end shall be saved." ~Matthew 24:13

Thus, I've always encouraged my kids toward relationship with Jesus and operated under the assumption they belong to Him unless proven otherwise as they exercise their free will over time. While I encourage prayer, I've never encouraged "asking Jesus into your heart." But what do you do when your kids realize they're sinners and want to be rescued?

Apparently, you revisit your roots. But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

God's gonna do what God's gonna do. 

 

God loves to prove me wrong. He loves to surprise me, and he loves to give me good things in spite of myself. (Not too different from that husband of mine.) So despite the fact I was far from a suitable frame of mind, the Holy Spirit dropped in my living room Monday night. 

We opened our copy of Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing* to the entry entitled "Friend of Sinners."

 *Seriously, if you have littles, get this book.

The following conversation went something like this--

Sara's brow furrowed. "Why does Jesus love sinners, Mama?"

I straightened. They don't usually ask questions about the Bible story. I love questions. "Well, he loves people and all people are sinners. God made us all to be like Him. To be His friends. But we disobeyed Him and ruined everything. Thankfully, God sent Jesus to live with us and to die to pay for our sin so we don't have to. When we believe in Him, we aren't sinners anymore. We're the righteousness of God. Because I count on Jesus for salvation, I'm the righteousness of God."

Micah stretched his body forward and looked at me intently. "Are we sinners?" He pointed to himself and Sara.

I smiled. My son was having a light bulb moment and there was a holy weight in the air. "Yes. Until Jesus lives inside of you."

Micah blinked tears from his big brown eyes. "I want Jesus to live inside of me. I don't want to be a sinner anymore."

Sara's eyes grew bright and she bounced in her seat. "Me too! Me too!"

So I led them in a carefully worded prayer. Never mind that I almost broke a sweat trying to accommodate my personal biases. (Feel free to laugh. I'm ridiculous.)

When it was over, I sang hymns which celebrate salvation. The kids leaped from the couch and danced joyfully to the thin melody sounding from my hot and swollen throat.

Immediately after, Micah wanted to tell his favorite person in the world--his Nona.

This, my friends, is the Gospel. 

 

The Gospel tells the truth about our sad state, but with hope. It convicts, but doesn't scold. It doesn't condemn, but woos. It's about love, not fear. The motivation is less about avoiding hell and more about enjoying heaven on earth through right relationship with our Creator and Savior. It's about discovering the greatest Beauty of the universe and telling everyone so they can appreciate Him, too. It makes us dance for joy because we were once lost and are now found.

Micah and Sara invited Jesus into their lives because they want to be His friends. They want to know Him.

Before heading to bed, Micah asked me, "Mama, will I be able to hear God now?"

"Yes, Baby. When you read the Bible, when you pray, when you listen for Him, He'll speak and you'll hear."

Again, tears filled his eyes. (I love that boy's tender heart.) "Do you hear from God?" he asked me.

"Yes, Love. All the time. And you will, too." Then I laid hands on him, asked God to fill Micah with his Spirit and to give him all the gifts He gave to me.

Seeds Sown

 

For years, I've sat with Micah and Sara day after day, night after night telling them of my Jesus. I've read the stories, sung the songs, praying all the while that it would matter. I've asked God time and again to help me live in such a way that they would want a life with Jesus for themselves. What an honor to lead these precious ones to Him.

I now can see the first hint of green peeking above the soil. And I know--my real work has just begun.

Missed Kicks, Flower-Pickers, and Dingbats

I was 17 years old when I "surrendered to the ministry." 

My reformed friends have no idea what I'm talking about.

This was a Baptist kid thing. And as a Baptist and a female, my options were limited. I could either be a missionary, a Sunday school teacher, or a minister of women. (Deaconesses and lady preachers are the unicorns of the Baptist church.)

I was under the impression you had to a be a professional Christian to really be used by God. I had yet to learn that God uses mothers and fathers, teachers and artists, plumbers and computer engineers, businessmen and farmers to advance his kingdom.

In my mind, you were either a star player or a flower-picker. There was no in-between.

A lot of us think this way, which is why us ordinary folk are content to stroll along the outskirts of the action. Leave the SportsCenter highlights to the pros. Am I right?

Don't answer. It was a rhetorical question.

Last Saturday, I watched my son play his first soccer game. I honestly thought he'd be a flower picker.

Just keeping it real. He's new to the sport and--like his mama--he kinda lives in his own little world most of the time. And well...doesn't he look like a flower picker to you?

Imagine my surprise when the whistle blew and I saw this...

I never thought I'd be that mom, but I was jumping up and down, clapping, and whooping. Not because he scored a goal. He didn't. And not because he got it all right. He didn't (see above photo). But because he threw himself into the fray.

I wasn't nearly as proud of Micah's success as I was his effort. His willingness to try. Did I care that he missed the ball on a couple of kicks? No! I had the time of my life watching him miss those kicks.

May I submit that God feels the same way about us? And that maybe he has a way of using our missed kicks?

As I mentioned before, I'm a flower-picker type. A frequent flyer to La-La Land. And don't ask me to multitask. More often than not, it goes wrong.

I know, I know...women are supposed to be phenomenal multitaskers. Blah, blah, blah. Yeah...no.

Last week, I attended Project 41's monthly Worship Night. It was an amazing night. I just love it when the Holy Spirit drops. There's a holy weight to the air. A sweetness in the atmosphere. It's good stuff.

Anyway, one of the worship leaders dedicated a song to "two very special ladies" and encouraged us all to sit back and soak it in. But as I closed my eyes and settled back onto the sofa, my friend nudged me and asked me to pray for her headache. I was happy to.

But I could only give the song a half ear at best. For whatever reason, the song I heard was "Just a Closer Walk with Thee."

My friend's headache improved, but hadn't completely gone away when we moved into a time of prayer. So I announced her headache to the group. (Beware of being my friend.)

She sat in the chair in the center of the room, and I took a front row seat from which I watched God love on her through the people around her.

In the midst of the outpouring, I had a vision of Jesus walking her through a garden, pointing out the flowers, showing her how beautiful they were. With the vision, he gave me a song to sing for her.

My pulse raced and heart pounded. I may be a singer, but this kind of thing always makes me nervous. So I asked everyone to join me as I sang, "In the Garden."

The following day, my friend thanked me for the song. She said, "When they sang it the first time, I wasn't sure it was for me. I thought they meant two other ladies. But when you sang it, God showed me it was for me."

I blinked. Wait, whaaaa????

I had no idea the worship leaders had already sung that song. At first, I argued with her. "They sang 'Just a Closer Walk with Thee,' not 'In the Garden.'"

A third friend and the worship leader who'd led the song confirmed it. With droll grins.

Nope. "In the Garden."

Awkward. All I could do was laugh. I can be such a dingbat. 

I'd committed the musical equivalent of a missed kick. (A difficult thing for a musician.) But that "missed kick" made my friend feel more loved than she would've felt otherwise.

There are a lot of ways to live surrendered to the ministry. 

 

The key is to live more surrendered to God than to self. To be more afraid of someone missing out on God's love than of looking like an idiot.

Some of us are star players who get paid to score goals and get kicked in the shins. Most of us...aren't. I'm not. But that doesn't mean I should leave all the work to the pros. We're a body. A team. There's a place for us all.

Which means there's a place for flower-pickers, too. Pick flowers to the glory of God! There's a time and a place for that ministry. I should know. Just be ready for the ball when God sends it your way.

Engage. Take risks. You may miss a few kicks, but God is an ever-proud papa. He cheers every effort in His name. You may be a dingbat, but His laughter is kind. And you can trust Him to turn even your failures for good.

Mayo Clinic Trip: Taxi Cab Edition

Aslan is on the move.

Shimmering ripples in the fabric of space and time dazzle our vision here in Minnesota. We stand in awe of the evidences of God's sovereignty. We arrived safely yesterday evening, and though I have been exposed to several triggers which have made me ill, I have not missed a breath or a step. Those Everlasting Arms are flexing (Deuteronomy 33:27). Mercy is holdng me up (Psalm 94:18).

Because this trip was not my idea but God's, I have felt since its inception I should leave the details up to Him. I bathed every decision in prayer. I felt His direction at every turn. But there was one question left unanswered until two weeks before the trip, and we needed to decide--taxi or car rental?

I immediately thought rental. Mom immediately thought taxi. We debated all the practical points. Which would be safest? Which would be the most economical? Which would save us the most stress? We did not know.

I was reading 1 Kings and the book of Acts at the time. In both books, there are examples of God's people casting lots to determine His will. In modern American culture, lot casting is considered to be a game of chance, but the book of Proverbs tells us differently--"The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord" (Proverbs 16:33). Upon the belief God was leading me to determine His will in a new way, I asked Brandon to flip a coin. Tails. Taxi. Okay.

Our first taxi ride was uneventful. The driver was polite and friendly. He wore cologne, but left the windows rolled down. No big.

Today, we needed a ride to the grocery store in downtown Rochester. Once again, the driver was polite and friendly. And interesting. We small talked on the way to The People's Food Co-op without an inkling of how special this ride would be. We were mostly looking forward to the grocery store. Which. was. fabulous.

It was a mecca of organic, Melissa-friendly food and stuffs. Local farmers sell and trade their produce and meats at the store, which makes them available to the public. Most of the produce is organic. All of it is gorgeous. The meat is local and in some cases grassfed. There is also a large selection of specialty items and natural body care products. Mom and I were in grocery shopping heaven. Seriously, this store made the trip feel like a vacation. I could almost ignore the debilitating pain in my stomach, legs, and arms growing, growing, growing as we passed through the aisles. Almost. Until it began taking my breath away.

On the ride back to the hotel, I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit as if to say, "Things are about to get interesting." It took a couple of minutes. We were almost at our destination when our driver began telling us about some of his experiences as a driver.

"I've laughed. I've cried. I've prayed with sick people," he said.

"Cool!" Mom replied. "Do you believe in Jesus?"

"Oh, yes. I used to be a pastor of an Assembly of God church."

He proceeded to tell us how after he had prayed for this one man with cancer, the cancer disappeared to the bewilderment of his doctors. He once led a girl to Christ in the front seat. And then he asked if he could pray for me.

"I would love that," I told him.

He took Mom and I by the hand, and began praying. The Holy Spirit fell in that vehicle. There was power in the prayer. I felt a warmth in my chest and torso I cannot explain. And suddenly, the pain all but vanished. I could breathe evenly again. No longer did I feel the need to hunch or clutch my rib cage. Never have I experienced immediate physical relief during or after prayer, but I did in that moment. I was stunned.

We asked his name. Arthur.

Arthur shared with us he was going through his own time of difficulty. No details. I asked if I could pray for him. He said yes. There were tears. I pulled out a handkerchief.

"This is for you," I said.

I told him my pain was better. He let me out of the car, and I couldn't help but embrace him. I loved him. He is my brother. Forever.

When we walked back upstairs, the cleaning chemicals and intense floral perfume did not overpower me. I have enjoyed pain relief all through the evening. Most of all, I have tremendous assurance we are right where we need to be. God has made trust incredibly easy.

He gave me three signs when I asked for one. He worked out every detail. He ordained we take a taxi. He put Arthur in my path as a result. God is here, and He is up to something good.

Thank you for praying for divine appointments! God has already begun answering your prayers! Glory to His name!

Update on Morgan: Surgery went incredibly well. It was not exploratory after all. Her doctor was able to assess and correct the problem immediately. She was discharged today with her pain under control. Praise God! Thank you for praying!

Dreams of Jubilee

On October 1st, 2012, my parents drove me to Baton Rouge for my first appointment with Dr. Stephanie Cave. My appointment fell on a Monday following a very frightening Sunday--the Sunday Brandon frantically drove the two of us home from Houston in the pouring rain while I struggled for breath and gripped my EpiPen tightly. It was the Sunday I forgot or maybe momentarily disbelieved God's word to me that I would be healed. It was the Sunday I planned my funeral. My dietary health had bottomed out, and I was living in a constant state of emergency thanks to the severity of my newly discovered latex allergy. So, I was in a strange place emotionally and spiritually for that road trip, to say the least.

Many memorable things took place on the first October Monday of 2012, most of which were answers to prayers that had been prayed by many people for a long time, but looking back I believe the most important event which transpired that day was almost entirely overshadowed by my new, fabulous doctor and the much-needed confirmation that we were finally on the right path. The weightiest, most significant moment of the day was as quiet as a whisper and as soft as an afterthought.

It happened in the car. Mom asked me if I had given much thought to naming the farm. I told her I had not. She offered her suggestion--Jubilee Farm. She said the name came from two sources--Sara Groves' song, "Eyes on the Prize" and Leviticus 25. The Year of Jubilee was a Sabbath of Sabbaths for the ancient Jews. The Hebrew word translated into the English "Jubilee" means something closer to "a trumpet blast of liberty." Every 50 years, the celebration began with a blast of a ram's horn. During this year, the people rested from working the land, Israelite slaves were freed by their owners and lost property was restored to those who had fallen on hard times.

"And you shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a Jubilee for you; and each of you shall return to his possession, and each of you shall return to his family. That fiftieth year shall be a Jubilee to you; in it you shall neither sow nor reap....You shall not oppress one another, but you shall fear your God; for I am the Lord your God."--Leviticus 25:10,17

Mom explained that she believed the upcoming year was going to be special. It was literally to be her "Year of Jubilee." She would turn 50 on January 21st, 2013. It was also likely to be the year she and Dad would join Brandon, my sister and me on the farm. She further explained how she saw Jubilee Farm as being a place of healing--for body and soul--for our family and others God would send our way. I readily agreed to the name for the farm, and carefully tucked away the tidbit about her birthday. I had no idea that my mother had spoken a specific prophecy over me.

In December, I began planning Mom's surprise Jubilee birthday party. I studied Leviticus 25 so I would have a firm grasp on the appropriate spirit for the celebration. I prayed for guidance about everything--the kind of party it should be, the decorations, the food, who to ask for help, the timing, the guest list. I prayed God would send the exact people He wanted to be in attendance. I invited Him to be present among us. I asked Him to prepare special blessings for my mother. He answered all of those requests, to be sure, but I had no idea He had something special for me in mind as well. To my surprise and inexplicable delight, God included Jenny on the guest list!

God didn't send Jenny just for me, but He did send her especially for me. She made the entire celebration sweeter and brighter with her presence, for the girl unabashedly spreads sunshine wherever she goes. She helped me prepare for the party, which turned out to be an absolute success--

 

 

After the festivities died down a bit, I stole Jenny away to my mother's sofa so we could talk privately. It was so good to talk with her face to face. I love watching her listen, think and process. I like watching her face when she laughs. I adore the radiance of Christ she carries. Just being with her was bliss.

And then she spoke into my life. She was actually talking about herself when she did it. I observed that she had lost weight. She confirmed my observation, and told me that she had bought new clothes recently. She explained that most of her old shirts were V-necks which exposed her chemo port. Upon her last shopping trip, she searched carefully for blouses that would hide it.

With a glowing smile and her quirky, lovely laugh, she began, "I used to want people to pity me....to feel sorry for me, but God has been too good to me for me to play the victim anymore. With buying new clothes, I am throwing off the sick rags!"

She had no clue, of course, but as she spoke, I felt the rod of the Lord give my soul a giant jab; or maybe what I felt were reverberations from the "trumpet blast of liberty." God's voice formed words in my soul which pierced my mind--"That's for you."

Jenny and I talked about all sorts of things after that, but it was those words that continued to resonate in my mind when she was gone. After she left, I shared them with the remaining party guests, Mrs. Dixie (my mentor) being one of them. Dixie threw her head back, sending a smile to the Lord, and said, "Isn't it beautiful how the Lord uses things like illness to humble us so that we disappear and He is glorified?"

With what was almost an electrical energy, the Holy Spirit made an important connection in my soul between what Jenny had said and what Dixie had said. As I have pondered and prayed over these words for the last two days, the Lord has fleshed out His message to me. I pray you are able to follow my thoughts.

God reminded me of the section in Embracing Obscurity in which the author reveals that we all possess subtitles by which we identify ourselves. For instance--Tom: The Adventurer or Stacy: The Creative Work-at-Home Mom or Charles: Youngest CEO in Corporation's History or Andrea: Pretty Girl. The subtitles aren't bad in and of themselves. They are only dangerous if we allow them to take precedence over our identity in Christ. When I read that chapter weeks ago, I didn't know my subtitle, but the Lord revealed it to me this weekend as I sought Him:

Melissa: Sick and Struggling Mother

How depressing is that?

Without realizing it, I have allowed my illness to become my identity. Facebook friends, think about it--how often do I air my woes for all of you to see? Pretty often, I'd say. Faithful readers, how many long lists of my various trials have you read on this blog? Too many. I have been "rehearsing [my] troubles [which] results in experiencing them many times....[This] multiplies [my] suffering!" (Sarah Young, Jesus Calling) While I'm being brutally and embarrassingly honest, I'll add that sometimes I'm more conservative about sharing God's goodness than I am my hardships because I can't let go of my new (though admittedly sad) identity. And I can't let go because....well, I have believed the lie that it's the only identity I have left. "Sick and Struggling Mother" is the only capacity in which I remain known in the world at all. I have been afraid to let this last thing go because if I do, I know I might disappear completely.

But the commandment is clear--I am to join my sweet friend, and throw off these sick rags! If my girl with Stage 4 cancer can do it, by golly--SO CAN I! Tossing these nasty things into the garbage is simultaneously an act of "embracing obscurity" and an act of jubilee! My sick rags have been wrapped around me like ancient grave cloths, holding me captive. Spiritually speaking, I probably resemble a bizarre mummy who isn't dead but dresses like she is. Jubilee is about freedom from oppression. Ironically, I have been oppressing myself! I have allowed my illness to take the spotlight. On Monday (the day Mom turned 50, beginning her Year of Jubilee), I vowed to the Lord that I was heading to the back of the stage, dragging my illness along with me. This whole thing isn't about my suffering or how well I carry it. It is about what the Lord wants to do with it and what He wants to reveal about Himself through it! My story is about displaying the spirit of this passage from Luke 4 in which Jesus reveals that He is the fulfillment of the Year of Jubilee--

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,

Because He has annointed Me

To preach the gospel to the poor;

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

To proclaim liberty to the captives

And recovery of sight to the blind,

To set at liberty those who are oppressed;

To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord."

Luke 4:18-19

Jesus Christ is Jubilee! Since offering my declarations to Him, I have felt so free, so light, but my work is not done here. Throwing off sick rags is a process. Thanks to Jenny, I have a good start by realizing that truly "God has been too good to me for me to play the victim anymore." At this time, I don't know fully what not playing the victim looks like all fleshed out. I do know that it doesn't mean being dishonest or arbitrary about my trials. I know that I will not wallow in them either. I am not a victim. I am not a victim. For now, only one thing is for certain--no more lists. (Your loud "amen" does not offend, my friend.)

Jenny Arlene--my precious, covenant friend--thank you. God bless you, Beloved! In my mind's eye, I see two girls peeling away the ugly, rotting rags they have been carrying about them for too long. They are smiling and laughing as they pull away each piece from themselves and occasionally from one another, tossing them away forever. When the rags are gone, there is only a glow of Heavenly Light about them. The Light is so bright that it becomes difficult to see the girls plainly and impossible to see them apart from the Light. The girls join hands and grin conspiratorially at one another before taking an unbridled, running leap and plunging into the vast, deep waters of endless Jubilee.