Just this.
And as they say on Duck Dynasty, right now I’m happy, happy, happy.
Napping kids and a quiet house are a welcome relief.
What’s your happy today?
Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
We love books in our house. As our kids grow, their book collection has overtaken the adults. So, here are five book series (they are so many more I could list) I would read even if my kids didn’t want to. Great characters, stories, lessons. And they make me laugh.
What books would you add?
To say human trafficking is an overwhelming atrocity is putting it mildly. With 27 million slaves in the world today, what good is one person’s effort?
Matt Parker, founder of The Exodus Road, shares from his heart about why rescue isn’t for the superheroes but for the ordinary people.
Take 3 minutes and watch. Then go out and change the world.
[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/61060062 w=500&h=281]
Rescue Isn’t Jason Bourne, It’s You.mov from The Exodus Road on Vimeo.
If you give me a book by Jody Hedlund, I will want to start reading it right away.
If I start reading it right away, I will let the children play anywhere in the house.
If I let the children play anywhere in the house, the house will get messy.
I will feel guilty and want to clean.
I will help them pick up,
Make them dinner,
And put them in bed as early as possible so I can get back to my book.
If the kids are in bed and the house is quiet, I will keep reading.
I will stay up too late.
In the morning, I will need extra coffee to start my day.
If I’m drinking coffee, I will need a book to read.
So I’ll continue reading the new Jody Hedlund book.
One cup of coffee will turn to two.
And soon it’s midmorning and I haven’t washed a dish or folded a piece of laundry.
I will Tweet the author to tell her my house is being ignored because her book is so good.
Dear @jodyhedlund, the dishes need washing, the laundry needs folded, and I need to bake bread. Instead I am finishing A Noble Groom. 🙂
— Lisa Bartelt (@lmbartelt) March 23, 2013
She will have no sympathy and tell me I can clean later.
I will turn on cartoons so the kids will leave me alone to finish the book.
I will set the book down a dozen times near the end to wait on them.
When I read the last word, I will close the book,
And sigh.
I will plunge my hands in the dishwater and feel a sense of loss.
Because if I finish a Jody Hedlund book,
chances are,
I’ll want to read another one.
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I received a copy of A Noble Groom from the author in exchange for my review, which you can find here on Goodreads or here on Amazon.
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Post written with admiration for Laura Numeroff’s brilliant “If You Give a …” series of books.
It was a beautiful Saturday evening when we ventured out for a long walk as a family around our neighborhood. There’s a picturesque path on the edge of town that offers a view of our humble borough that I can’t quite capture with a camera but that takes my breath away every time. My husband and I have taken this particular walk numerous times, and when we were training for a 5K (that feels like eons ago) it was one of our circuits.
On this night, we brought the kids, who we were certain would poop out before the end, but who said they were game.
All was well until we descended the hill back into town, toward the farm where our favorite cows live. A man jogging past us slowed down and said, “Watch out for the chicken. He’ll get ya!” My husband and I exchanged a look and offered him a patronizing “okay!” and a friendly wave. Seconds later, a car slowed down and the driver yelled out the window: “Did someone warn you about the chicken?” We said “yes” and they drove on. I’m not kidding you when I say that seconds after that, another car did the same thing, prompting our imaginations to create a chicken of Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man proportions (Ghostbusters, if you have no idea what I’m talking about).
We became extra vigilant as we approached the farmhouse, and the kids were starting to sense it. Our 5-year-old started freaking out and our 3-year-old wanted to be carried. We spotted the chicken on the other side of the road (literally) and thought maybe we could sneak past without notice. Just as we were about to pass, one of the farmers rolled up in his work truck. He nodded in the direction of the chicken and said, “His name’s Henry. He’ll peck your shoelaces.”
We nervously laughed and kept walking, hoping the chicken wouldn’t see us.
It was false hope.
That chicken was across the road quicker than a “cock-a-doodle-doo.” Not knowing what else to do, we started running, which freaked our daughter out more and winded all of us. Let me offer you this word of warning: If you think outrunning a chicken is easy, think again! I know it wasn’t going to hurt us, but for a few moments, I felt like an actor in a horror movie being chased by a wild man wielding a weapon. That chicken could run. (Which by the way is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Not at all graceful.)
We made it beyond the chicken’s borders, I guess, and were able to stop and catch our breath and calm our daughter and laugh a little. We weren’t far from home, but it did take us a while to recover. The kids didn’t go to sleep easily that night and they’ve been talking about the rooster scare ever since.
As the kids and I walked around a different block a few days later, I thought about the chicken incident and how it could be one of those things that keeps me from walking the path with the beautiful view. I could avoid it from now on, out of fear of another chicken chase, or I could dare to walk it anyway.
Fear could make me miss a beautiful view.
One night last month, I went downstairs to get laundry out of the dryer and I saw a bat fly toward me. I hustled up the stairs and didn’t go back down there for a week. Necessity forced me past my fear, but even as I take care of laundry business downstairs now, I still wonder if there’s a bat down there.
Fear could keep me from doing what needs to be done.
Years ago, when Steve Irwin (you know, the Crocodile Hunter guy) died from a stingray attack while filming a documentary, I remember how much criticism he received, posthumously, for living such a risky life. Because it got him killed, people assumed it wasn’t worth the risk. But anyone who watched Irwin’s show (I was slightly obsessed with him at the time; I have the action figure to prove it) could sense that the guy loved his job. Yes, his job came with risk, but he did it anyway.
Fear could keep me from living an adventurous life doing what I love.
Those “why did the chicken cross the road?” jokes are probably as old as time, and honestly, I don’t have THE answer. But maybe the chicken crossed the road because he really did want to get to the other side.
Maybe he was tired of all the other chickens warning him of what would happen if he tried to cross the road. (You might get hit by a car! There might not be food! You don’t know what it’s like over there!)
Maybe he was curious. Or adventurous. Or just plain dumb.
No matter the reason, the jokes all start with the same premise: the chicken crossed the road.
And joke or no joke, we can learn a lot from a chicken.
Because I don’t know about you, but I know about me. And I’ve spent a lot of time letting fear keep me on one side of the road while I wonder what’s on the other side of the road.
Even if it takes me the rest of my life to cross to the other side, I’m taking the first step and kicking fear to the curb.
Who’s coming with me?
Author Ginny Yttrup’s third book, Invisible, released this week. You can read my review of it here.
Today, Ginny stops by to talk about writing, St. Augustine and her journey with God.
1. How long have you been writing?
I began writing about 20 years ago. I had no education, but I had a dream. I began attending writers conferences, learned all I could, and 17 years into my writing journey, my first book, Words, was published. My writing journey is one of faith and perseverance.
2. Describe your writing routine/schedule.
Well, sadly, I work best under pressure. So typically, I wait until the last minute to begin a manuscript and then I write under panicked circumstances! That means, I’ll write 10-12 hours a day. I’m a slow writer, so I may not accomplish a large word count during that time, but it’s what I do. I’ll wake early—5:30 to 6:00 a.m., grab a cup of coffee, and go back to bed with the coffee and my computer. I’ll write until I feel the need to move.
Because I have major back issues due to reconstructive back surgery several years ago and rods and screws from my shoulder blades to my pelvis, I can’t stay in one position for too long. So once the pain hits, I move. I’ll get up and take a walk or a hot shower and then sit in a chair for a couple of hours and write some more. Then I’ll move back to bed where I can write from a flat position—often with an icepack beneath me.
I’ll write until 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. at the latest. I can’t think after that. Then I’ll go to bed by about 8:00 p.m. and start the whole thing over the next day. Coffee and exercise and chocolate sustain me during those writing months. And God’s mercy envelops me and strengthens me! Also, besides my kids and my housemates, I don’t typically see anyone during those months of writing.
3. In what ways were you inspired by St. Augustine in the writing of Invisible?
Oh, Saint Augustine. I really didn’t like him at first! He seemed like a gluttonous womanizer. But I stumbled upon a quote of his that was so enlightening. It tumbled around in my brain and I couldn’t seem to let it go. The quote is listed, along with two verses, in the beginning of Invisible. I finally picked up his life story—Confessions—and read it. Mind you, this man lived in the fourth century, so I was certain I’d feel no connection to him. But as I read his confession—the sins he struggled with and his transformation through Jesus Christ, I felt like I’d met a soul mate. People are the same through the ages. We are created in the image of God and we live in a fallen world and struggle against our sin nature. We are all the same—uniquely made—but our struggle and, for Christians, our salvation through Christ, is universal. I think if we accepted that fact more readily, we’d see less prejudice in our society.
4. In the book you talk about how important it is not to “edit your life” – how are you living out the power of that statement these days?
I live that statement by attempting to live authentically. I live by a “what you see is what you get” principle. That doesn’t mean that I share everything about my life with everyone. But it does mean that I attempt to live the truth and share the truth when appropriate. Sometimes, I’d much rather edit out the ugly parts of my life rather than share my failures with others or share the pain of my past or present, but God keeps nudging me to speak truth.
5. In what ways is God calling you out of hiding these days, calling you not to try and be “invisible,” calling you to live out the reality of Imago Dei in your life?
Ah…living life “visible” is one of my greatest challenges. I’d much rather hide away. MUCH rather! Yet God… As I look back on my life, I realize now that God’s been calling me out of hiding my entire life. As an abused child—one who was sexually abused between the ages of 2 and 14, I never wanted to do anything but hide. I couldn’t tell the truth. I hated who I was. School was torture for me. I attended 5 different schools during my elementary years—so I was always the new girl and I was painfully shy. I hid behind that shyness and all that pain.
As a teenager, I hid behind alcohol and drugs.
These days, whenever I feel like hiding, I push myself out. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have days where I want to stay home—so I do—but instead, I’ve learned the difference between being an introvert who recharges by spending quiet time alone, and being asked to do something or go somewhere and letting fear keep me bound.
The two most personally challenging ways I’m visible these days is through marketing my books—that act of stewardship of the message God’s given me that so often feels like self-promotion. And through speaking to groups. The fact that I speak at events and retreats is simply one of God’s healing miracles in my life.
But it becomes easier and easier to live life in front of others when I take my eyes off myself—die to self—and instead focus on who God is and who He created me to be. I am created in His image! When I hide in shame—I hide Him too. I no longer want to do that. Instead, I pray He’ll shine through me—that His glory will be visible to those I encounter.
This is the fourth, and final, part of Anna’s story, a fictional account of what trafficked girls experience. Click the links for the previous accounts: Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Details provided by The Exodus Road.
Anna wakes with a start. In her dream she was running from her captors, running for her life. She looked around at the room she was in, filled with girls like her but entirely different from the room she only recently shared with another group of girls.
The whispered words in her soul brought her comfort as she settled back into her bed.
After the raid, Anna had been taken to a nearby group home that specialized in aftercare for girls who had been sold into slavery. For weeks now, she’d been meeting with a counselor to work through all she’d been through. Anna spoke often of the nightmares and the shame. The counselor assured her both were normal to her experience and recovery. Occasionally, the girls met as a group to talk, to remind them they weren’t alone in their feelings. Anna battled anger–at herself, at the men who trafficked her, at the men who used her. She was grateful the home had a punching bag. Anna slugged out her feelings until she was too tired to lift her arms.
Now, it was a waiting game. Her case had to be cleared through the legal system before she could travel home.
Home.
Her tears soaked her pillow still as she thought of going home. Last week, she’d been able to speak with her family. She’d called the bakery in hopes that her former employer would be able to contact her mother. She was shocked to hear her mother’s voice answer the phone.
“Mama?” she spoke into the phone, hesitantly.
The woman on the other end began to weep. “Anna? Is it really you?”
“Yes, Mama. It’s me.” And then Anna, too, had begun to cry.
Their call had been short, but they had talked long enough for Anna to assure her mother that she was safe and would be coming home soon, and for Anna to learn that her mother had taken her job at the bakery when they realized Anna wasn’t coming home.
“At first I thought you’d forgotten us,” Mama said. “Then, we started to hear rumors of a crime ring targeting young girls. I feared for you, my child. I didn’t want you to end up like me.”
Anna didn’t know how to tell her mother the truth. She told her counselor this–that she was afraid her family, her community, would shun her because of what she’d done.
“What happened to you was not your fault, Anna. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” the counselor said.
“Maybe I was greedy, trying to gain a job that would pay so well …”
“Hear me again, Anna: It was not your fault.”
God had forgiven her, she knew. Forgiving herself would be harder.
A few more weeks passed and Anna was finally granted clearance to leave the country. A local non-government organization paid for her flight to Russia, and a kind-looking older woman, a volunteer from the organization, accompanied her to ensure her safety. On the flight back to St. Petersburg, Anna thought about how quickly life could change. Months ago, she’d been a girl with a dream–a dream of a better life for herself and her family. She’d imagined herself boarding a plane to a new country full of new opportunities. Now here she was, finally on a plane, and she was headed back home.
But nobody said her dream had to die.
The NGO woman explained that Anna would not be left on her own. They had contacts in St. Petersburg who would help her–and her mother–work through the trauma of having been trafficked. They would do everything they could to ensure Anna would not end up a victim again. That included a stipend, $1,000 U.S., more money than Anna could conceive of at one time.
At the safe house, Anna’s counselor had helped her work out a plan for her life. First on the list was to finish school. Eventually, Anna dreamed of opening her own bakery. She’d learned some valuable skills at her neighborhood bakery–skills she hoped to perfect and make her own in the years to come.
It would not be an easy road, but Anna had hope that life could be better.
Epilogue: Anna goes on to earn a degree in business and open her own bakery. She employs at-risk girls in her community and educates others about the dangers of human trafficking.
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The Exodus Road works with NGOs in southeast Asia to fund investigations into human trafficking and rescue those who are enslaved.
Years ago I watched a movie starring Barbara Streisand called The Mirror Has Two Faces. I can’t remember much about the movie except that Bryan Adams sang on the soundtrack (and I was practically in love with Bryan Adams) and the female lead was not confident about her appearance or her attractiveness to men.
I could relate.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw, and I didn’t believe anyone else who said they saw something different.
Almost 20 years later, the struggle isn’t as intense, but it’s still a battle. And it’s this image battle that novelist Ginny Yttrup writes about in her new book Invisible.
Ellyn is the owner and head chef of a restaurant in Mendocino, California. She’s also overweight, has never had a relationship with a man and she’s skeptical when a widowed doctor, Miles, shows interest in her. She hears a voice in her head (she calls him “Earl”) that constantly puts her down. She loves butter. (Who doesn’t?)
Twila works at a shop owned by her mom. They specialize in herbal medicines, organic foods, and natural products. Twila bears a tattoo of thorns on her face, a mark of solidarity with those who suffer. She is thin and recovering from an eating disorder (she calls it “Ed”) and re-establishing a healthy relationship with food.
Sabina has come to Mendocino to escape. She’s a therapist carrying a suitcase stuffed with guilt and battling depression. She’s on a break from her practice, her family and God. Each day is a struggle to get out of bed.
Ellyn befriends Twila and Sabina and as the three of them get to know each other and their “issues,” they realize they aren’t as different as they might seem on the outside. Each of them, with the help of the others, is on a journey to discover who they are and why they’ve hidden behind food, an eating disorder and professional success.
I don’t know how she does it, but Yttrup creates characters that could walk off the page and into your living room. Invisible is an honest look at what happens in the female mind, and how distorted our view of ourselves can be. I found myself able to identify with each woman for a different reason.
This quote is one of my favorites from the book:
And if you like the writings of Christian saints, you’ll appreciate Yttrup’s inclusion of quotes from St. Augustine at the start of each chapter. A quote from his writings plays a major role in the theme of the book. (Yttrup did this with Madame Guyon in her last book, Lost and Found. I appreciate the ancient-modern connection.)
Yttrup has a unique style. Each chapter is written from the first-person perspective of one of the characters. Sometimes I had to go back and remind myself who was talking, but the chapters are short and the movement of the characters toward wholeness is fluid and hard to step away from.
I enjoyed reading this book on my own but think it would be even more meaningful in a discussion group with other women. So, if you’re looking for a book club read or you have a group of girlfriends who like to read and talk, I’d put this one on the list.
Read more about the author’s personal experience with the issues she writes about here.
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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Invisible from Handlebar Marketing.
Last year, Phil and I caught a couple of summer blockbusters in the theater. We don’t get out to the movies much, so for us to see more than one “must-see” while it’s still in the theater is unusual.
I’ve noticed a theme in movies of late. Maybe it’s always been there, but something stuck out to me in the movies we watched last summer. (No spoilers. I won’t tell you which ones, but maybe you’ll know them anyway.)
Here it is: The hero doesn’t stay dead.
And I’m not talking about crazy action sequences where no human being should have survived but it’s the movies so it’s okay.
I’m talking about when the movie comes to an end, and the hero appears to have died, and we can’t believe it could be possible. Yet in the final scene we get a clue that maybe he didn’t die after all. Maybe he somehow survived. And there’s hope that maybe the story isn’t over and we’ll get to see the hero perform saving acts again.
Easter is like that.
Jesus is a hero–an unlikely one–to the Jews living under Roman oppression. He rebels against the religious system of the day. He speaks with authority. He heals people. He draws crowds of followers. And when he rides into Jerusalem on a donkey on what we call Palm Sunday, the crowds are ready for what they expect to be a heroic act: the overthrow of Rome. In this scene, Jesus is, to them, a conquering king, a hero poised to rescue them from a foreign government.
It plays out like a movie.
Jesus eats a final Passover meal with his closest friends. He prays a dramatic prayer in a garden. One of his own followers betrays him to the government. He is arrested, without a fight (at least from him). He is mercilessly beaten and mocked. Falsely accused. And sentenced to death.
The stories of Holy Week are some of the most dramatic you’ll find. And from the point of view of the characters in it, the story is rapidly coming to an end. An end they didn’t expect.
Jesus is crucified. A cruel execution for the worst offenders. His friends and family and followers can’t understand how it ends this way. Maybe they’re still looking for deliverance. For God to intervene.
But He doesn’t. Jesus dies. They put Him in a tomb. They endure a Sabbath where they aren’t allowed to prepare His body for burial.
The story, it seems, is over. And those who followed Jesus are distraught. Grieving. Confused. Afraid.
Following Jesus had cost them. And now it seemed it was all for nothing.
As early as they could on the first day of the week–we call it Sunday–some women went to Jesus’ tomb to prepare His body with spices. They had no plan. The tomb was guarded by Romans and sealed with a heavy stone. They went to finish the burial preparations they could only perform in haste on Friday.
Then it happens.
The story isn’t over.
The tomb is empty. An angel appears to tell them that Jesus isn’t dead after all. He is alive. He is risen from the dead.
And the women, stunned, run back to the village to tell the rest of the followers.
Jesus, Himself, appears to the women, to the disciples, to men walking on the road to a neighboring village, to hundreds of people. In the flesh. They touched him. Ate with him. Talked with him.
The hero of this story–he didn’t stay dead.
We cheer it in the movies, grateful for the chance at another adventure. And we “believe” it because it’s a movie and anything is possible.
Yet when it comes to Jesus, we dismiss the possibility of resurrection.
We call it a hoax. Or we mock it, saying Jesus is a zombie, the walking dead.
We’ll say anything to discredit the truth of the resurrection.
I get it. I was a doubter. When God caught up with me in college, I knew what I felt but I didn’t know if it was true.
I hoped it was. I wanted to believe. I felt I couldn’t disbelieve, but I wanted facts.
In a college class about Jesus and the Gospels, I was given evidence. And my head confirmed what my heart felt.
Maybe you want those facts.
Maybe you don’t.
It wasn’t my intention to present a case for the resurrection here. Others can do that far better than I can.
I just want you to consider this: Jesus is the hero of the Christian story. And he doesn’t stay dead.
And that, alone, is the reason for our hope.
Yesterday may have been Easter Sunday, but Easter continues.
In the church calendar, it’s the next 50 days until Pentecost.
In our lives, every Sunday is Resurrection Day, and every day a reason to celebrate.
He is not dead.
He is risen.
He is risen.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OEqavkJGCE]
He is risen, indeed.
Lisa Bartelt is a participant in the Bluehost Affiliate Program.
Occasionally, I review books in exchange for a free copy. Opinions are my own and are not guaranteed positive simply due to the receipt of a free copy.