Beauty on the Backroads

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I hate everything about this

I’m venting. Be forewarned. Because I’m a writer I tend to process with words and sometimes those words aren’t pretty. I promise I’m not trying to bring you down with me. I just need to let off some steam.

Because I REALLY hate what we’re going through right now.

I hate that I’m capable of a raging outbursts that my kids think are funny but which serve no great purpose for me except to blow off everything that’s been boiling inside.

I hate that my parents might find me curled up in the fetal position when they get here later tonight because the house is messy, the kids won’t listen and I don’t have enough left in me to care what anyone thinks.

I hate that going to the grocery store stresses me out and I used to enjoy it.

I hate that when a woman in front of me is one bad decision away from not being able to buy her food, instead of compassion for her situation I think, “Oh, God, please don’t let that ever be me.”

I hate that I yell at my kids for stupid stuff like spilling a small amount of milk while trying to be independent and pour themselves a glass. Have I become the sort of person who values less than a half a cup of milk more than my child’s intentions and feelings?

I hate that I’m not sleeping well at night. And I’m drinking too much coffee. And I’m escaping into novels so I don’t have to deal with reality for a few hours.

I hate that I can’t see how much I’m blessed because all I can think about is what I don’t have.

I hate that I pout when the pizza crust doesn’t turn out like I like it and that I’m more concerned with how my food tastes than being grateful that I have food to eat.

I hate that a small thing–like not being able to find my husband’s social security card the day he starts a new job–escalates into a big thing because my stress level is off the charts.

I hate that I want to throw all our stuff into the front yard with a big “FREE” sign and start over.

I hate that I sometimes regret having kids because it’s hard and I wonder if it’s worth it and then there’s the people I know who struggle to get pregnant or can’t have kids and I’m sickened by my selfishness.

I hate that I’m full of so much hate toward my circumstances, and even God sometimes, and I wonder if I really believe His promises or if He is my God only when times are good.

I hate that I can’t live in this moment and learn from it, that I just want to escape it.

And most of all, I hate that the truth hurts and yet it is still truth.

Truth like this from a Donald Miller talk my husband was listening to on a podcast: A good story contains lots and lots of conflict. My life is too painful to be meaningless.

And this, from Psalm 38:

Your hand presses hard upon me.

O Lord, You know all my desires, and my sighing is not hidden from you.

My strength has failed me.

In You, O Lord, have I fixed my hope; you will answer me, O Lord my God.

And these words from Psalm 37 that overtake my hate and my doubt yet still I wrestle with them:

Put your trust in the Lord and do good.

Dwell in the land and feed on its riches.

Take delight in the Lord and he shall give you your heart’s desire.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

I might hate this, but I can’t escape it, and I can’t say what I’ll look like on the other side. Melted, refined, broken. Everything of value–gold, silver, diamonds–passes through some kind of testing and the end result is more beautiful than the start.

This, this, is my hope in the pressing times. That like a grape, crushed and squeezed and left to sit, my life will become something sweet and intoxicating. Like a caterpillar that dies to its former life of crawling on the ground and becomes something wholly new that soars.

I do not want this yet I must embrace it.

And today I will celebrate that even in the pain, I am alive.

That help is literally on the way. (My parents are coming for the weekend.)

That my husband is taking me to breakfast in the morning, and maybe to a movie this weekend. (Because generous friends have given us money to use “for fun.”)

That my kids will fall asleep tonight and all the stress of the day will evaporate.

That there is a God in heaven who hears and sees and that our lives will, in some small way, reveal Him to others.

That what I see and feel and hear are not all there is to life.

That God is always up to something.

And I am not in control.

And sometimes I just need the comfort of words.

“My flesh and my heart may fail,  but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

Warms the heart like a cup of tea: Review of A Wreath of Snow by Liz Curtis Higgs

I know, I know, October isn’t even over yet and already I’m reviewing another Christmas book. I was reluctant to jump right in to the holiday of holidays when the colors of fall are still showing, but as is the case with nearly every Liz Curtis Higgs book, I’m not sorry.

Her Victorian Christmas novella, A Wreath of Snow, set in Scotland in the late 19th Century is as comforting as a cup of cocoa (or tea or coffee) on a cold winter’s night. In a couple hundred pages, Higgs spins a yarn of family tension, regret, guilt, forgiveness, and unexpected blessings knit together with the hope and joy of Christmas. I’ve not sought out Christmas stories or novellas in the past, but Higgs has made me a fan of both!

A Wreath of Snow is a quick read. Should you find yourself snowbound or with a free afternoon or evening in the coming months, I’d wholeheartedly recommend picking up this book, curling up in your favorite chair and sipping a hot drink. I’d read this one again and again.

Get a sneak peek here.

Or watch the trailer below.

[youtube=http://youtu.be/8ag6Q9DDSpo]

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In exchange for my review, I received a copy of the book free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group.

The gift of receiving

Years ago, when I was attending Bible study regularly for the first time, we talked about spiritual gifts–things like teaching, discernment, encouragement and giving. I remember our leader at the time joked that he had the gift of receiving. We laughed, of course, because really, who wouldn’t want that gift?

In recent years, I’ve discovered that there just might be a gift to receiving. Or maybe it’s an art.

Here are a couple of ways NOT to do it:

  • Someone brings you unasked-for gifts for your children and you notice that the puzzle for your son is one he already has. Definitely do NOT tell the person, “Oh, he already has that one.” Unless of course you enjoy crushing people.
  • You receive a gift at a birthday party and you already have it. Do NOT be rude by tossing it aside and announcing, “Oh, another one.” See the previous example about crushing people’s spirits.

Both are true stories. Both perpetrated by me. I was an elementary student when one of them happened. The other, it was yesterday. So, see I still have a lot to learn about receiving.

Our family is in a season of receiving, which sounds really selfish and greedy when I write it that way. But it’s true. In the last four years, we have received everything from child care to  food to money, all given in love, without condition or thought of repayment.

Based on some of the things people have said when they were giving us things, I could add a couple more “do nots” to the previous ones.

  • Don’t be ungrateful. Say “thank you” no matter what it is. If it’s something you wouldn’t or couldn’t eat or didn’t like, don’t embarrass the giver by telling them that. Our family isn’t picky when it comes to food, so I can’t think of anything we’d turn down. And we definitely wouldn’t ask the person to return it and get us something else. A gift is a gift, and the intentions are likely good. Pass on the blessing if you find yourself with something you can’t use.
  • Don’t make a fuss or pretend you don’t need help. Some people will just give you money or food and not ask first if they can. I like these people because they go ahead and do what they feel led to do. Others will say, “Is it okay if I …?” and that sometimes makes it  harder to say, “yes.” Even if it’s embarrassing or humbling, let people help you. I can’t imagine turning down help when we truly need it. It doesn’t get easier, but there are times when you’re in need to the point that you can’t say “no.”

In this season of receiving, we’re also learning how to give. To hold things loosely, as people like to say. To bless others out of the abundance we have. We might not be able to give someone the money they need but we have an attic full of kids’ clothes, so we’re finding homes for those. In the obscene wealth of this country (as compared to other countries) there is always something to give. We exchange child care with another family–gifts of time.

And because we’ve received, we feel an obligation, a responsibility, to give in the future to those who face the same situations we’ve faced: graduate school with a young family, pastoral ministry, unemployment, underemployment. We won’t limit our giving to only those, remembering “to whom much is given, much is required.”

I’ve seen people graciously receive, and I’ve seen them ungraciously receive. And I’m somewhere in between, still learning what to say and how to say it.

What would you add to the list of how not to receive? What have you learned about giving?

Hold on to your stetsons: Review of Borders of the Heart by Chris Fabry

This summer, I was introduced to Chris Fabry as an author via the Tyndale Summer Reading Program. His book Not in the Heart is seriously the best piece of fiction I read this summer. It was so unique and memorable from its main character to its plot twists that I can’t say enough about it.

So, I jumped at the chance to review his latest release Borders of the Heart.

In short: Another winner.

Fabry has a gift for storytelling. From the first chapter, we’re immersed in the story, the conflict and the action. Borders of the Heart is a thrill ride from page 1 that doesn’t let up till the end.

Plot summary: J.D. Jessup is a farm hand in Arizona, having given up a music career in Tennessee. He’s running from his past when he comes face-to-face with the present: a beautiful young Mexican woman near death in the desert. When J.D. chooses to help Maria, despite his boss’s advice to call Border Patrol when he sees an illegal, J.D. becomes entangled in a plot that could kill them both.

Love story. Action. Suspense. This book has a little bit of everything.

Check out the trailer here to whet your reading appetite for this book.

For more from the author, read on for a Q&A with Chris Fabry.

 Q: Your newest novel, Borders of the Heart, addresses heavy topics such as illegal immigration, the U.S./Mexico drug trade and the cost of compassion. Where did you get your inspiration for the book?

A : Our family moved to Arizona in 2008 and since then I’ve known I wanted to write about this area of the country, a rich, desert existence with problems and possibilities. This book is not as much an “issue” book as it is a book about people who have to deal with lots of those issues as part of their daily lives. I don’t have an ax to grind on the topics, but I did want to show how real people are affected by these contemporary topics.

Q: Several of the characters in Borders of the Heart are dealing with things from their past. What lessons do your characters learn along the way?

A: The past is huge for each of us. I’m convinced many are “stuck” by something in the past that holds us back from being all God wants us to be. A reader will walk through that process with the main character, J.D., and I’m hoping they’ll see an authentic struggle.

Q: J.D. Jessup is faced with a very difficult moral dilemma when he weighs the decision to follow his boss’ very clear direction or his own heart when he discovers Maria near death. What lessons does this story provide for your readers?

A: Every choice we make in life comes with a cost. If we say yes to one thing, we may have to say no to something else. The choice J.D. makes is a good choice, and even good choices can lead to disastrous and deadly results. Can you believe that God is involved in even the difficult circumstances? I think that’s a huge reveal in this story for me. Does everything have to work out perfectly in the end in order for God to be glorified?

Q: How does the concept of redemption figure into your story? Was it gratifying to write about redemption? Why or why not?

A: A lot of people don’t like the word “saved.” It’s old fashioned and not in vogue. I think the term is loaded with truth because if you’re on the verge of death and someone “saves” you, you know exactly what that means and how grateful you would be. Characters in this story get rescued from certain death and when the stakes are that high, I can’t help but get emotionally involved in the story.

Q: How does the concept of grace figure into your story? Was it gratifying to write about grace? Why or why not?

A: Grace is when we’re treated better than we deserve. Yes, characters discover that in the book as well. I love the concept of grace in such a gritty, tough story because you’re not expecting it. You’re expecting A+B=C and when grace invades, it catches you by surprise.

Q: Borders of the Heart clearly demonstrates that sometimes there is a cost to compassion. What made this an important story element for you? Why was it important for you to show that sometimes there is a cost for us when we behave compassionately?

A: You’ve heard the saying, “Freedom isn’t free.” The one who acts with compassion usually absorbs the pain of someone else. This is a picture of the cross, of the sacrifice made for us in Christ. This is another thread you’ll discover throughout the story.

Q: Have you ever been faced with a real-life hard choice or ethical dilemma like your main character J.D.? If so, what was your dilemma and did you feel like you made the right choice?

A: I’ve never had to decide whether to leave a person for dead or not, but I think every day we have a chance to sacrifice. Sometimes it’s a small thing, like taking time for your children when you have something REALLY important, like writing a few more paragraphs. I haven’t always passed those tests. My contention is, the details of everyday life will show what we’ll do with the big decisions. If you choose well in the small moments, the moments when no one is looking,you’ll choose well when a huge decision comes your way. Conversely, if you don’t see the little things as important, you might not make a good decision with the big decision.

Q: What do you hope your readers will take away from reading Borders of the Heart?

A: Borders of the Heart is at its core a love story. You will root for J.D. and Maria to survive and solve the mystery of what’s really going on in Tucson. And I hope readers will take away the truth that what looks impossible to people is possible with God’s power. Even if something looks hopeless, it’s really not when God is involved.

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In exchange for this review, I received a free copy of Borders of the Heart from Tyndale House Publishers.

Freaky Friday

Note: I won’t have a Saturday Smiles post this week due to a book review scheduled for tomorrow as part of a blog tour. (Be sure to check it out, though. It’s a good one!) Saturday Smiles will resume next week, as long as I don’t have another day like today.

I should have suspected the kind of day it was going to be when our son came charging into our room in the middle of the night, scared of thunder, and our daughter followed a few hours later having wet her bed. I’m protective of sleep because I seem to have had so little of it since becoming a parent five years ago and especially when entering a weekend of solo parenting. I wanted to start the weekend fresh, ready to take on the world, not already feeling like my regular coffee consumption just wasn’t going to cut it.

Pair the less-than-restful sleep with a mostly cloudy day of intermittent rain and I was ready to curl up with said coffee and a novel and ignore the rest of the world for a little while.

But today my husband had a second interview for a job he’d interviewed for earlier in the week. So, he set out early to make his third drive to Lancaster this week. And because it was raining and we only have one car (I know, this is a “First World Problems” kind of sob story, isn’t it?), we skipped morning storytime, intending to attend afternoon storytime at the library after my husband got back.

The kids and I ate lunch and checked the weather to see if we might have to walk to the library anyway. Then I got a text from my husband that he was headed home with a job offer. Good news! At least, that was my first reaction. And I wondered if maybe we’d skip the library visit so we could talk about the offer and whether or not he was going to take it.

Less than 20 minutes after the text, a couple from church stopped by with an envelope of cash for us. Just to help us out. Overwhelming. We were already planning to eat dinner out tonight so my husband could meet his ride for the weekend retreat, and I wasn’t sure we’d really be able to afford it, or for him to chip in for gas. Problem solved. Praise the Lord. The gift also gave us a little breathing room for buying some food staples.

I’ve been such a whiner lately about whether God knows what we’re facing and whether He hears our prayers and whether He even cares what we’re going through right now. Oh, He cares. I pondered this verse today: “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast because they trust in you.”

My mind was anything but peaceful as I job searched for me while my husband was at his interview. And it became unsettled again when he got home. We spoke briefly before I hauled the kids to the library, and he told me some of the terms of the offer.

I got the kids signed in and settled in. Within minutes, Corban was asleep on my lap, the first sign that the change in routine had us all out of sorts. Minutes after falling asleep, he peed his pants, and consequently my pants, too. So, there I was sitting with a large almost-three-year-old on my soaking wet lap with a 4-and-a-half-year old on the other side of the room quietly listening to stories. And the diaper bag was in the van. So I texted my husband and asked him to come even though he’d been home only a few minutes and had barely had time to eat lunch. He showed up about 15 minutes later and I carted the boy child to the car to change his pants. I left my purse and license inside, so we couldn’t go home for me to change.  I debated whether I should go back in with wet urine spots on my pants or just wait outside in the car with Corban. I chose the Billy Madison method and went back in, pee pants and all.

We managed to make our craft and escape the library without further incident. We made it home, where we talked more about the job and I learned I had about an hour to ask questions and decide if I was on board with this next step. Here are some of the points I had to ponder:

  • This is an entry-level job at Chick-Fil-A, but the owner is willing to pay my husband the highest hourly rate she can pay for that level. So, it’s not a quick financial fix for us by any means, but even with commuting for a little while, he’ll still be making more than double what he makes now. (Which if you do the math is practically nothing.)
  • Holidays are their busiest times, so he can’t take vacation when most people would have vacation, like between Christmas and New Year’s Day.
  • On Tuesday, my husband was not so excited about this possibility. Today, he was all for it.
  • We’re not sure whether we can actually afford to move to Lancaster on what he’ll be making.
  • Just before I texted him to come rescue me at the library, another place called to offer him an interview. Seriously, after months of hearing nothing from anyone, we get two in one day???
  • We’ve been waiting so long on God that now it seems like we’re rushing into something.
  • We only have one car, and when he works days, if we haven’t moved, the kids and I will be without wheels for most of a day.
  • He won’t have to work Sundays or evenings, which was one of our main criteria for a job.

While we were talking all this out and Phil was packing for his weekend getaway, our doorbell rang. Standing on our front porch was another person from church with a box FULL of leftover food from a funeral dinner today. Like tons of food. Soup. Lunch meat. Rolls. Cheese. Stuff that hasn’t been in our fridge for a few months because we’re working with a lean budget. After he left, I lost it and started crying in the kitchen while putting food away.

God is so crazy, unbelievably, faithfully, hysterically good to us. And I am a colossal whiner.

So we decided. Phil will take this job. It is a step in the right direction, even if it feels more like a stepping stone in the midst of a raging river than a bridge across torrential waters carrying us to safety. So, yes, my graduate-degree-holding husband is going to work at Chick-Fil-A. Yes, we are Christians. Yes, we like their food. Yes, we’re glad they’re not open on Sundays. No, we don’t hate gay people.

We had already planned to eat at another Chick-Fil-A tonight because it was a convenient meeting place for Phil’s ride to the Poconos. While waiting for our food there, Phil’s future employer called to confirm. So, I thought that was funny. We ate chicken. The kids played and made friends. We met up with the rest of the guys going to the retreat. I drove the kids home in the rain and the dark.

And because the day couldn’t get any calmer, I noticed when we were just a few feet out of the parking lot that a bug of biblical proportions (you know, about two inches or so) had attached itself to the passenger window, which was down. Because it was icky looking and I didn’t want it flying around in the car, I put the window up, thinking I would trap it or kill it. I think maybe I maimed it. At the next stoplight, I put the window down a crack to see if it would fly away and instead it dropped into the car. Talk about distracted driving! I pulled over in a grocery story lot, having kept one eye on the bug and one eye on the road. I had to shake the floor mat a little to get it to fly away, but we got that problem solved.

The kids and I ended up at the grocery store at 7 o’clock on a Friday night. They were all confused because it was dark. We needed milk, mostly, and a few other things and by this time, my nerves were so fried that I snapped at the bagger when he made what he thought was a funny comment about WIC checks. “Hey, they’re no picnic for us either!” I said. I might have smiled as I said it, but at that point, I was just ready to be home.

After a minor thunderstorm, at least one child is now snuggled all tight in bed and the other one is quiet. Me? I’m headed for that novel, finally, and maybe a cup of chamomile tea.

Tomorrow is another day.

 

Christmas in October: Review of A Sweethaven Christmas by Courtney Walsh

All good things must come to an end, right? Sad but true. And for the gals of Sweethaven, it had to happen sooner or later.

The third and final book in Courtney Walsh’s Sweethaven series, A Sweethaven Christmas, released earlier this month and has me ready to trim the tree, make cookies and play endless hours of Christmas music. (It’s too soon, right?)

If you’re new to the series, check out my reviews of the first two books: A Sweethaven Summer and A Sweethaven Homecoming.

The holidays are in full swing in Sweethaven as the families start celebrating this special time of year. With the hurt and healing of the summer still fresh in their lives, Campbell, Jane, Lila, Adele, and Meghan look to the future with promise of good things to come.

Courtney has done an amazing job creating the community of Sweethaven, and the Christmas setting of this book had me pining for a small-town Christmas celebration. If you’ve never had the pleasure of attending a Christmas walk or seeing a winter holiday parade, you’re missing out. Both my hometown and the town where I live now have a Christmas/holiday celebration that warms my heart despite the chill in the air. The Sweethaven celebration was everything a small-town holiday event should be.

Jane’s weight-loss journey in this book was particularly moving for me, although for a couple of chapters I got tired of her whining and insecurity about her weight. (Then I was reminded how tiring my own whining and insecurity about my weight are. Touche.) Her insecurities may be the most obvious of all the women, but they all deal with it in different ways. And that’s what I’ve loved about this journey. After three books, I feel like I know these women. Shoot, I AM these women, in some way or another. Courtney has encapsulated in these women the myriad issues we women deal with. And she’s given us hope that with God, good friends and gumption, we can get through, and even over, the stuff that messes up our lives.

I didn’t realize how much these women meant to me (I know they’re just characters in a book, but they’ve become my friends!) until I found myself crying, on the brink of a major sobfest, as the book drew to a close. The only reason I didn’t have a complete breakdown is that my husband was sitting on the couch across the room, and I didn’t want him to think something was wrong with me. (Confession: Something IS wrong with me.)

The road these women have traveled was long, and I’m glad to have been a companion on the journey. The end of Sweethaven is bittersweet, and I imagine as an author, that takes on a new meaning. Personally, I can’t wait to see what Courtney has cooking next.

Costly decisions

Two summers ago, the kids and I were spending two weeks sandwiched between wedding events in Illinois while my husband worked and attended class in Pennsylvania. On one of those days, our son, who was not yet 2, had a miserable ear infection, we suspected. So, we took him to an urgent care clinic where he was poked in the ear, and gagged in the throat (checking for strep) and eventually diagnosed with an ear infection. Medicine prescribed and we were on our way.

At the time, we had low-income insurance for our kids in Pennsylvania, which pays for doctors’ visits and prescriptions. I had no idea what an urgent care visit would cost, but we had to do something.

A few months later, we got the bill. Yikes! It took us a few months to pay it and reminded me that decisions, even good ones, seldom happen without a cost.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last few days. My husband and I are college-educated and essentially unemployed. We’re job hunting without much success. We’re raising two passionate, stubborn, creative kids. We’re hundreds of miles from family. We’re sure of the next step, until we’re not. We’re hoping. And doubting. And waiting. And searching. And trying to explain what’s on our hearts.

I read these words from Oswald Chambers (Mary DeMuth quoted him in her new book Everything: What you give and what you gain to become like Jesus, which I will review here in a couple of weeks) and they say everything, encouraging me to press on with this unpredictable journey.

If we obey God it is going to cost other people more than it costs us, and that is where the sting comes in. We can disobey God if we choose, and it will bring immediate relief to the situation, but shall be a grief to our Lord. Whereas if we obey God, He will look after those who have been pressed into the consequences of our obedience. We have simply to obey and leave all consequences with Him.

Moving to Pennsylvania has been hard on our family and extended family. But it has been the best thing for our growth. Seminary was the hardest four years of our lives. But it has planted seeds in our hearts that have yet to show their fruit. Having two kids less than two years apart has been nothing short of insanity. And even though I want to escape some days, I wouldn’t trade away the lessons we’ve learned or the little people who have invaded our hearts and our lives.

Life doesn’t always make sense. It’s not making sense to us right now. But we know what we know. And we know what we’re supposed to do. We just don’t yet know the “how” of all of it.

These decisions, these steps of faith, they’ve not been made lightly. They’ve cost us plenty. But if we hadn’t taken them, we’d have lost so much more.

Please, pray for us. And with us.

We have counted the cost and found obedience to Christ worth everything, even the loss of all we know.

Now we count on Him to carry us.

Saturday smiles: Fun with words edition

It should come as no surprise to me, a lover of words, that my children also seem to love them.

Here are two examples from this week:

Sometimes we just play with rhyming words and sounds, even if they aren’t really words. Corban started rhyming with Sodor (the island where Thomas the Tank Engine lives) and came up with Mordor (check my spelling on that). Which made me giggle thinking about Thomas as the next Hobbit or Lord of the Trains.

Izzy is in that stage where she hears everything and sometimes you don’t know what she’s heard until later when it comes out of her mouth. On her way to watch a high school soccer game with Daddy, she opened the conversation with “Daddy, how did you and Mommy meet? Where did you get to know each other? We don’t have a chance to talk about these things.” Too cute.

This doesn’t exactly have to do with words, but it makes me smile after the fact. At the time, I was hopping mad. I went to the grocery store. By myself, which is rare and usually makes for a less stressful trip. On this particular day, I came out of the store, loaded my groceries, which included milk and frozen veggies, only to find that I was blocked in. I had parked across from a cart corral and behind me was a car with two ladies in it. They were talking to another lady (a friend, I presumed) who was leaning in one of the windows. On the side of the car were the words: “If you died today would you go to heaven or hell?” In one of my least Christian moments, I was tempted to help one or all of them find out. I wondered what would happen if I just reversed slowly. I didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t even politely ask if they could please move. Honestly, I didn’t want to talk to them because I thought I’d have to “prove” my answer to the question. What irked me most, though, was that other cars were driving around them, glaring. After all THEY WERE PARKED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AISLE. And I chuckle because so often we Christians are so busy with each other we don’t even see what’s going on in the world around us. Maybe I’m still not over it, but the veggies made it home still frozen.

The vice presidential debate still makes me laugh. I actually had fun watching it and following on Twitter. (Does that make me sound lame? Oh, who cares. I am lame.)

And with that, I’ve reached the end of my available words that still make sense. It’s been an exhausting week, and my brain is suffering.

May your week be full of whatever makes you smile.

The wrong way to lead

Posting about leadership on the same night as a vice presidential debate: sounds about right.

When it comes to leadership, I feel like I know more of what NOT to do than what to do. And I’ve learned plenty of what not to do from my own mistakes. I’m contributing once again to a leadership discussion here on the topic: “Whoops! How Have You Grown From Your Mistakes in Leadership?” (For other leadership posts, click here and here.)

Mistakes? We’ve all got ’em. And the sooner we learn from them the better leaders we become. Two related instances stood out in my mind when thinking about leadership mistakes. Both took place in my first “real” leadership position, as a resident assistant (R.A.) during my semester in England.

It was the perfect time for me to test my leadership wings. A friend who had been an R.A. the semester before encouraged me to do it and even prepped me a little for the interview. It meant having my own room (which was a plus because my roommate was a partier and I was not) and a little extra cash to spend on travels and such. It also had a degree of responsibility which was less than it would have been back on our home campus soil but I still took it seriously.

I got the job and went through a small amount of training about how best to handle rule infractions. One of the most important rules was: No smoking. We were living in a 19th century manor house. Smoking in the manor–not a good idea. The first time this rule was tested under my watch, I was hanging out with some friends in their room. We could smell smoke from the floor above us, a common occurrence for my friends. One of them pressured me to go up and confront the girl they knew would be smoking. I, on the other hand, was hoping someone else would handle the conflict. (How’s that for leadership?)

But I went. I knocked on the door. When I was told to come in, I found a girl smoking in her windowsill. I told her she couldn’t smoke. She said, “Why not? It’s my room.” I got upset. I think I raised my voice. She argued back and demanded to see her R.A. I found her R.A. and she handled the situation beautifully, just as we’d been trained to do.

Lesson learned: Training is important. And chances are if you’ve been trained to do something, there will come a day when you’ll have to use it. My mistake was forgetting my training. Instead, I felt pressured to take action and fix the problem and assert authority. I did it all wrong. Maybe if I’d paused and given myself time to think, I’d have remembered what we were taught to do.

The second instance had to do with a girl on my floor. She had a rough exterior (I’m not talking about her looks) and you could just tell she wasn’t going to take anything from anyone. One night her music was too loud and someone complained. So, I dragged myself to the end of the hall and around the corner and asked her to turn her music down. She complied and I went back to my room, which shared a wall with her room. Not long after I sat back down at my desk, I heard some loud thumps against the wall. I was so keyed up with adrenaline from having to confront her, even on a little issue, that I imagined she was harassing me for having scolded her. So, I wrote her up. Without going back to her and finding out what was going on.

When she received her punishment, she came right to my door and demanded an explanation. I told her what I’d heard and she denied it. I apologized, but it didn’t help. The next time I walked through her hallway on my night rounds and the music was too loud, her roommate gave her a look that said, “turn it down” and the girl loudly said, “I don’t care what she says.” I knew then that my authority, my leadership, was doomed. A few months later, when her boyfriend came to visit, let’s just say I took a mini-vacation from my room and didn’t write her up for the things I heard going on that night.

Lesson learned: Assumption really does make you look like an ass. And acting in revenge or out of your own insecurities only leads to more trouble. I’m still not a huge fan of conflict but I’ve learned that sometimes it’s necessary. And it can be healthy. And no one, I mean NO ONE, is going to respect your authority when you “pull rank.” (For more on this topic, click here.)

I’d love to tell you that since those days, my leadership has been perfect. It hasn’t. I still make mistakes. Sometimes they’re well-intentioned mistakes. I know they’re inevitable and I’ll learn from them, but making mistakes still hurts.

What about you? How have you learned from your mistakes in leadership? We’d love for you to join this discussion by commenting on this blog post or over at The Deeper Leader blog.

Stay tuned for more leadership topics!

The castle stole the show: Review of Tangled Ashes by Michele Phoenix

I have a thing for castles. Maybe it was the college semester I spent here or all the fairytales I read as a kid. Whatever the reason, I like castles and manor houses and vicariously traveling to places I might not see for a very long time, if ever.

In Tangled Ashes, author Michele Phoenix takes us on a trip to northern France–Lamorlaye, to be exact–where a Renaissance-era castle is in need of renovations. A wealthy British entrepreneur has plans to turn the aging château into a hotel, and American architect Marshall “Beck” Becker is the man for the job.

Beck is an interesting character who brings with him more baggage than would fit on a jumbo jet. We know he’s battling some demons from the past and his chosen weapon is alcohol. A brilliant and talented artist and architect, Beck’s personal life cripples his professional life. Entering into the mix is Jade, the nanny of the castle owner’s children. She consistently lets Beck have a piece of her mind and challenges his beliefs about his past and his present coping methods. Woven into the present-day story is the account of two young girls working at a Nazi-occupied manor near the castle in the 1940s, toward the latter end of World War II. The stories converge as secrets are uncovered.

Tangled Ashes was an enjoyable read, though I was slightly disappointed by the ending. I’m a happy ending, tie-it-all-up-with-a-pretty-bow kind of girl, most of the time, and that’s not exactly how this book ends. It’s appropriate for this story, though, because Beck is battling an alcohol addiction, and from what I’ve learned about addiction, there’s nothing pretty or tidy about it. So to end the book in any other way would have been misleading and unrealistic. Along those same lines, Beck disappointed me in his many failings. You want to root for the guy, but he’s so messed up, he fails again and again. I wanted to give up on him. Maybe that says something about my expectations for people. Thank God, He doesn’t give up on us, and Beck heads toward that conclusion as he’s confronted with the God he’s been trying to cut out of his life.

I had a minor issue with Beck’s spiritual transformation as the author implied that the traditions of the liturgical church were inadequate for bringing about change and true spirituality. I don’t know if it was intentional or a byproduct of her involvement with an evangelical church her parents helped found in Lamorlaye, but it didn’t sit well with me. I would hate for someone to walk away from this book thinking the ancient Christian traditions and liturgies were useless. I have been learning otherwise, of late, but that’s a different story for another day.

Jade has her own issues, but she’s a good complement to Beck’s brash and aggressive behavior. The castle, however, is the star, and I have a feeling that words and pictures don’t do it justice. At least, not in its heyday. View Phoenix’s photo album here. The castle could use some love. Makes me wish I had lots of money and a good reason to move to France.

Overall, I liked the book. Phoenix grew up in France, in the shadow of the Lamorlaye castle, and I’m glad she took the time and effort to write a story that shares her experience in that part of the world.

Check out the first chapter here.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Tangled Ashes from the publisher.