Emily Conrad's Blog, page 3
February 22, 2018
On Typos and Flourishing
by Emily Conrad
My worst-ever grade on a report card was a D in 4th grade spelling, and unfortunately, spelling is still an issue for me.
Recently, I quoted fellow author Barbara Britton's comment about my book in a meme. After her name in the graphic, I added the name of her series of books, the Tribes of Israel series.
The hitch is, I swapped the "a" and the "e" around in Israel. I caught it only after it'd been shared by a bunch of people on social media.
Fantastic.
Armed with one more typo story (as if I didn't have enough already), I was extra-careful when placing an order for a banner to promote my writing.
I put my book cover on it and my usual information--name, website, social media, genres--as well as my tagline: Writing to foster faith that flourishes, even if...
But "flourishes" didn't look right. On guard, I put it in Google and got this result:
I had it right, so I finalized the order for the banner, but that "grow in a healthy or vigorous way" sticks with me.
I pray God will use my writing in a way that lives up to that tagline, but let's get real. I can't even spell Israel correctly.
Read more »
My worst-ever grade on a report card was a D in 4th grade spelling, and unfortunately, spelling is still an issue for me.
Recently, I quoted fellow author Barbara Britton's comment about my book in a meme. After her name in the graphic, I added the name of her series of books, the Tribes of Israel series.
The hitch is, I swapped the "a" and the "e" around in Israel. I caught it only after it'd been shared by a bunch of people on social media.
Fantastic.
Armed with one more typo story (as if I didn't have enough already), I was extra-careful when placing an order for a banner to promote my writing.
I put my book cover on it and my usual information--name, website, social media, genres--as well as my tagline: Writing to foster faith that flourishes, even if...
But "flourishes" didn't look right. On guard, I put it in Google and got this result:
I had it right, so I finalized the order for the banner, but that "grow in a healthy or vigorous way" sticks with me.
I pray God will use my writing in a way that lives up to that tagline, but let's get real. I can't even spell Israel correctly.
Read more »
February 20, 2018
My Road Map to Success
by Emily Conrad
As the date for the release of my debut novel draws closer, I've been thinking about how long the journey to get to this point has been.
It was fifteen to twenty years ago when I thought Jesus might be saying: Let's take this trip together. It'll give you time to get to know Me better, and you'll meet lots of other people along the way. It'll all be for My glory, the trip of a lifetime!
Me (not really having listened except maybe to the very first and last parts): Okay, Jesus, let's go! I've got a map right here!
And I did have a map. There I was in Wisconsin, and I saw my goal--those mountains I love out west. What I didn't pay enough attention to is the fact that my map was folded, hiding from view the great, flat, length-wise sates of Iowa and Nebraska. Except, in this case, I was in Fictionland hoping to get to Successfulauthorland.
Read more »
As the date for the release of my debut novel draws closer, I've been thinking about how long the journey to get to this point has been.
It was fifteen to twenty years ago when I thought Jesus might be saying: Let's take this trip together. It'll give you time to get to know Me better, and you'll meet lots of other people along the way. It'll all be for My glory, the trip of a lifetime!
Me (not really having listened except maybe to the very first and last parts): Okay, Jesus, let's go! I've got a map right here!
And I did have a map. There I was in Wisconsin, and I saw my goal--those mountains I love out west. What I didn't pay enough attention to is the fact that my map was folded, hiding from view the great, flat, length-wise sates of Iowa and Nebraska. Except, in this case, I was in Fictionland hoping to get to Successfulauthorland.
Read more »
February 15, 2018
Here's to Hope
by Emily Conrad
Inspired by my mom, whose orchid plant rebloomed after years of faithfully administering ice cubes each week, I invested in some orchids of my own.
When I bring an orchid plant home from the grocery store, it’s full of beautiful buds. Whether we’re talking aspirations or orchid plants (or both), it takes that initial promise to get us started, doesn’t it?
The beauty draws us in. Enraptured, we vow we’re going to care for it and see this through. But then the flowers shrivel. The flower spike hardens and dries. The leaves stay green, but is anything going on in there? Weeks stretch to years.
But to the persistent, the story isn’t over.
Read more »
Inspired by my mom, whose orchid plant rebloomed after years of faithfully administering ice cubes each week, I invested in some orchids of my own.
When I bring an orchid plant home from the grocery store, it’s full of beautiful buds. Whether we’re talking aspirations or orchid plants (or both), it takes that initial promise to get us started, doesn’t it?
The beauty draws us in. Enraptured, we vow we’re going to care for it and see this through. But then the flowers shrivel. The flower spike hardens and dries. The leaves stay green, but is anything going on in there? Weeks stretch to years.
But to the persistent, the story isn’t over.
Read more »
February 13, 2018
Chopsticks and Peppercorns: the perks of learning the slow way
by Emily Conrad
Sesame chicken, fried rice, kung pao chicken, shredded pork and potato… Am I making your mouth water yet?
These are just some of the Chinese dishes we’ve been cooking in our house, thanks to the Chinese student who is living with us.
Kung pao chicken was my favorite dish when I visited my sister in China four years ago, and I was especially excited to make it myself. When I returned from that trip and tried to find authentic Chinese recipes, I was intimidated, but by taking it one step at a time with our student, I’ve been learning and growing progressively braver.
Eventually, I ordered chili oil and Sichuan (or Szechuan) peppercorns off Amazon in order to make our food more authentic, but I was nervous about the new ingredients. I was especially hesitant about the Sichuan peppercorns, which are a common ingredient in Chinese cooking but are known for their numbing effect. Were they very hot? Would my whole lip go numb?
The bag of spices arrived. Sichuan peppercorns are shaped like the peppercorns we'd put in a peppermill, but they have a strong, fresh plant scent like lemongrass and lavender or juniper. I checked with my sister, who said I shouldn’t have any problems using them, and our student assured me they weren’t hot. I followed the kung pao recipe and added them in.
(This picture isn't the kung pao chicken. I was too excited about it to stop and take a good picture. This is a kind of orange chicken and a tomato and egg dish my student's mom taught her to make.)
When we sat down to eat, our student recommended picking out the peppercorns instead of eating them. Apparently, they'd done their job throughout the cooking process. So there I was with my chopsticks, picking through my chicken for peppercorns.
I missed some and knew it every time because of the strong flavor—again, more herbal than peppery. I had to pay attention to notice the very slight numbing effect, though my brother popped a couple all at once without other food and told me a few minutes later part of his lip was numb. I’m still not sure if he was serious or joking…
Regardless, the adventure was worth the risk. The food is delicious.
New things tend to involve some risk and some discomfort. I’ve been reminded of this again not only in cooking Chinese, but also as I press on toward accomplishing some writing goals. I find myself in new situations that I’m not always sure how to handle. I end up picking my way through and encountering the occasional zing of a misstep.
Sometimes, I wish I could jump ahead. I want to master new skills before I make a mistake. I want a fork I can use to shovel in the experience quickly and without embarrassment.
Unfortunately, I can’t know it all at once. Learning comes slow. It's like using chopsticks to pick my way around little flavor bombs of peppercorns.
Despite my impatience, maybe this is the way to go. When I’m used to a fork, eating a meal with chopsticks makes me much more mindful. Each bite is more rewarding and satisfying when I’ve worked hard for it.
If I take similar time with new experiences, my growth is meaningful and lasting.
Perhaps that's also why spiritual growth isn't something we can do much to hurry.
When we hear Jesus’s knock and invite Him in to dine with us, I'd posit that He doesn’t bring a fork (and certainly not a shovel) to the table. He's there to share a meal. He brings chopsticks. He settles in for this to take a while—the rest of our lives.
There are seasons of fantastic growth and change, true, but it seems to me these are the exception, and often they are the result of change that’s been brewing for a while. Most growth comes in small bites as Jesus takes us one step at a time through a process that would otherwise overwhelm us.
And the blessing of it is that, whether the adventure is cooking new food, launching a debut novel, or pursuing spiritual growth, Jesus is always and forever willing to show us again how to use chopsticks. How to take it slow, savor each bite, and trust Him to teach us what we need to know as we need to know it.
PS - If you’d like to try some Chinese recipes yourself, I recommend this cookbook, this chili oil, and these peppercorns. (Yes, those are affiliate links, which does not increase your cost, but does result in a small commission to me if you purchase.)
This is my tweetable text. Click to tweet it!
Sesame chicken, fried rice, kung pao chicken, shredded pork and potato… Am I making your mouth water yet?
These are just some of the Chinese dishes we’ve been cooking in our house, thanks to the Chinese student who is living with us.
Kung pao chicken was my favorite dish when I visited my sister in China four years ago, and I was especially excited to make it myself. When I returned from that trip and tried to find authentic Chinese recipes, I was intimidated, but by taking it one step at a time with our student, I’ve been learning and growing progressively braver.
Eventually, I ordered chili oil and Sichuan (or Szechuan) peppercorns off Amazon in order to make our food more authentic, but I was nervous about the new ingredients. I was especially hesitant about the Sichuan peppercorns, which are a common ingredient in Chinese cooking but are known for their numbing effect. Were they very hot? Would my whole lip go numb?
The bag of spices arrived. Sichuan peppercorns are shaped like the peppercorns we'd put in a peppermill, but they have a strong, fresh plant scent like lemongrass and lavender or juniper. I checked with my sister, who said I shouldn’t have any problems using them, and our student assured me they weren’t hot. I followed the kung pao recipe and added them in.
(This picture isn't the kung pao chicken. I was too excited about it to stop and take a good picture. This is a kind of orange chicken and a tomato and egg dish my student's mom taught her to make.)
When we sat down to eat, our student recommended picking out the peppercorns instead of eating them. Apparently, they'd done their job throughout the cooking process. So there I was with my chopsticks, picking through my chicken for peppercorns.
I missed some and knew it every time because of the strong flavor—again, more herbal than peppery. I had to pay attention to notice the very slight numbing effect, though my brother popped a couple all at once without other food and told me a few minutes later part of his lip was numb. I’m still not sure if he was serious or joking…
Regardless, the adventure was worth the risk. The food is delicious.
New things tend to involve some risk and some discomfort. I’ve been reminded of this again not only in cooking Chinese, but also as I press on toward accomplishing some writing goals. I find myself in new situations that I’m not always sure how to handle. I end up picking my way through and encountering the occasional zing of a misstep.
Sometimes, I wish I could jump ahead. I want to master new skills before I make a mistake. I want a fork I can use to shovel in the experience quickly and without embarrassment.
Unfortunately, I can’t know it all at once. Learning comes slow. It's like using chopsticks to pick my way around little flavor bombs of peppercorns.
Despite my impatience, maybe this is the way to go. When I’m used to a fork, eating a meal with chopsticks makes me much more mindful. Each bite is more rewarding and satisfying when I’ve worked hard for it.
If I take similar time with new experiences, my growth is meaningful and lasting.
Perhaps that's also why spiritual growth isn't something we can do much to hurry.
Listen! I am standing at the door and knocking! If anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come into his home and share a meal with him, and he with me. Revelation 3:20, NET
When we hear Jesus’s knock and invite Him in to dine with us, I'd posit that He doesn’t bring a fork (and certainly not a shovel) to the table. He's there to share a meal. He brings chopsticks. He settles in for this to take a while—the rest of our lives.
There are seasons of fantastic growth and change, true, but it seems to me these are the exception, and often they are the result of change that’s been brewing for a while. Most growth comes in small bites as Jesus takes us one step at a time through a process that would otherwise overwhelm us.
And the blessing of it is that, whether the adventure is cooking new food, launching a debut novel, or pursuing spiritual growth, Jesus is always and forever willing to show us again how to use chopsticks. How to take it slow, savor each bite, and trust Him to teach us what we need to know as we need to know it.
PS - If you’d like to try some Chinese recipes yourself, I recommend this cookbook, this chili oil, and these peppercorns. (Yes, those are affiliate links, which does not increase your cost, but does result in a small commission to me if you purchase.)
This is my tweetable text. Click to tweet it!
February 8, 2018
31 and Falling, a Valentine's Day Short Story
by Emily Conrad
Did you know I offer some free short stories on my website? Valentine's Day is coming up, and that's reminded me of "31 and Falling," the short story I published last February in conjunction with a series on God's love.
Here's an excerpt. You can read the full story (and others!) on emilyconradauthor.com.
“Does he get his talent from you?”
Sarah blinked up at Coach Luke. At six-two, maybe six-three, he towered over the lowest bleacher, which she shared with her son. “I’ve never played hockey.”
“But do you skate? He’s a natural out there. Sometimes it runs in the family.” Luke’s smile was easy, probably disarming for most women, even if they’d managed to keep their defenses up when his warm brown eyes first landed on them.
If only Sarah could shield herself with the gear Peter was shedding. Why had Coach Luke picked today, when she was still raw over losing the promotion, to talk to her? “No, never.”
“She skated in the parking lot, though.” The last of his hockey pads in the duffle bag, Peter hopped up and swung his arms in dramatic circles, lifted one leg to waist-height, then plopped back onto the bench, laughing.
Luke flinched as if the idea of watching her fall pained him. “Is that true? You fell?”
She jammed her hand in her pockets. The rink must be in the fifties, but the short drive from home to the gym hadn’t warmed the car, so she’d been freezing on the way over. She wouldn’t thaw out until she was back home, under a blanket with a cup of tea. Or maybe not until July. “I did.”
“Are you all right?”
“Nothing broken.” Her lower back still ached from the collision with the ice and asphalt. As for her pride, only Peter had seen the fall, and he could reenact it as much as he liked if the show gave Luke the impression she was a clumsy, awkward type he’d be better off leaving alone.
“I could walk you to your car and save you from a repeat.” His eyes were lit with something. Hope?
She’d be better off falling in the parking lot than falling for a man. She would explain her hands were full as a single mother and she didn’t want to complicate her life, but Peter sat next to her, old enough to start recognizing if she used him as an excuse. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Beyond Luke, Kelsey, opened her mouth, miming a silent scream of excitement. She had been encouraging Sarah to break the ice with Luke since hockey started. Hoping to stop her before Luke might turn to notice, Sarah shook her head.
Luke shouldn’t be interested in her. The ice arena was part of a full sports complex. Just outside the ice arena, there was a warming area with a clear view of the cardio machines and weight room. A guy with good genes like Luke, who clearly used the free staff access to the rest of the gym, had his pick of the place. Any of the fit women with annoying, perky ponytails would bask in his attention. The only reason he’d go for Sarah instead would be if he expected her to be a desperate single mother. Easy.
He had another thing coming.
~
You can download the full story here.
If non-fiction and blog posts are more your style, here is a link to the posts of the Indivisible series!
If you enjoy the story and think you're friends might, too, please share!
The Bible promised God wouldn't stay angry forever, but in Sarah's case, He just might. - A free #ValentinesDay short story from #Christianfiction author @emilyrconrad #CR4U
Did you know I offer some free short stories on my website? Valentine's Day is coming up, and that's reminded me of "31 and Falling," the short story I published last February in conjunction with a series on God's love.
Here's an excerpt. You can read the full story (and others!) on emilyconradauthor.com.
“Does he get his talent from you?”
Sarah blinked up at Coach Luke. At six-two, maybe six-three, he towered over the lowest bleacher, which she shared with her son. “I’ve never played hockey.”
“But do you skate? He’s a natural out there. Sometimes it runs in the family.” Luke’s smile was easy, probably disarming for most women, even if they’d managed to keep their defenses up when his warm brown eyes first landed on them.
If only Sarah could shield herself with the gear Peter was shedding. Why had Coach Luke picked today, when she was still raw over losing the promotion, to talk to her? “No, never.”
“She skated in the parking lot, though.” The last of his hockey pads in the duffle bag, Peter hopped up and swung his arms in dramatic circles, lifted one leg to waist-height, then plopped back onto the bench, laughing.
Luke flinched as if the idea of watching her fall pained him. “Is that true? You fell?”
She jammed her hand in her pockets. The rink must be in the fifties, but the short drive from home to the gym hadn’t warmed the car, so she’d been freezing on the way over. She wouldn’t thaw out until she was back home, under a blanket with a cup of tea. Or maybe not until July. “I did.”
“Are you all right?”
“Nothing broken.” Her lower back still ached from the collision with the ice and asphalt. As for her pride, only Peter had seen the fall, and he could reenact it as much as he liked if the show gave Luke the impression she was a clumsy, awkward type he’d be better off leaving alone.
“I could walk you to your car and save you from a repeat.” His eyes were lit with something. Hope?
She’d be better off falling in the parking lot than falling for a man. She would explain her hands were full as a single mother and she didn’t want to complicate her life, but Peter sat next to her, old enough to start recognizing if she used him as an excuse. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Beyond Luke, Kelsey, opened her mouth, miming a silent scream of excitement. She had been encouraging Sarah to break the ice with Luke since hockey started. Hoping to stop her before Luke might turn to notice, Sarah shook her head.
Luke shouldn’t be interested in her. The ice arena was part of a full sports complex. Just outside the ice arena, there was a warming area with a clear view of the cardio machines and weight room. A guy with good genes like Luke, who clearly used the free staff access to the rest of the gym, had his pick of the place. Any of the fit women with annoying, perky ponytails would bask in his attention. The only reason he’d go for Sarah instead would be if he expected her to be a desperate single mother. Easy.
He had another thing coming.
~
You can download the full story here.
If non-fiction and blog posts are more your style, here is a link to the posts of the Indivisible series!
If you enjoy the story and think you're friends might, too, please share!
The Bible promised God wouldn't stay angry forever, but in Sarah's case, He just might. - A free #ValentinesDay short story from #Christianfiction author @emilyrconrad #CR4U
February 6, 2018
Fantastically Human, Divinely Loved
by Emily Conrad
Milk was spilling all over the place last week, and I don't just mean literally, though there was some of that, too.
First, a member of my household thought to save a bowl of cereal for later by putting it in the fridge without a cover. When I got up and went for milk to make my coffee, I found the bowl tipped, cereal-dotted milk pooled on the shelf and seeped into the space beneath.
Okay, these things happen.
I handled it and went on to make my coffee. I mindlessly placed the milk for my latte in the microwave and set the timer for at least twice as long as I should've. I discovered it a couple of minutes later, boiled over the beaker and onto the glass plate.
Spilled milk in fantastic fashion. And I don't mean fantastic in a good way.
I cleaned that up, too, but literal spilled milk isn't the only kind I faced. Just one example of figurative spilled milk: I created a memes to advertise my novel, and kept finding mistakes in them--after they'd been shared. Either something wasn't centered correctly or I'd forgotten closing quotes. After fixing and fixing them, I thought I had my act together when I made a new meme quoting kind words a friend and fellow author shared about Justice. Only later did I notice I'd spelled the name of that author's series incorrectly.
Even when I'm trying to keep it all together and do it all right, my humanity spills out in fantastic fashion.
Sometimes, the spill is trivial, and sometimes it is less so. I scramble to wipe it up before anyone notices, but messes have a way of pooling and seeping. Sometimes, it's a mess that affects someone else, like that tipped cereal. And sometimes, the cleanup is entirely beyond me.
It's a vulnerable feeling, this being human thing, and I don't like it. As I notice my sin and failures, spilled milk and more serious infractions, I'm as helpless as the child in the grocery store who dropped the whole gallon of two-percent and watched it sploosh across the floor in ways she could never hope to hide or fix.
She thought she could do it herself. She thought she had it under control. Clearly, she was wrong, and there's no going back now. She gets ready to burst into tears--red face, puffed out cheeks, bunched chin.
She gulps a huge breath of air to power a wail, but then she feels a hand on her shoulder. A big, warm, strong hand. She's not at the store alone. She's there with her father.
He pays for the damaged product. He cleans up the mess. He wipes his daughter's face and places her safely in the cart. He forgives her, teaches her, brings her home, and provides generously for everything she needs--even when she proceeds to tip over her glass of milk there, too. She is his daughter, and his love for her is unconditional. He'll forgive her again and again, clean her up again and again, dry her tears again and again.
Our failings are often more serious than spilled milk. I understand this. But God is more than a human father.
Though we often think we have things under control and can handle them ourselves, we can't. It's beyond us, and it's best we recognize that before we spill.
But like that girl in the grocery store, we are not alone even when we fail. Jesus paid the price. He cleans us up, forgives, teaches, provides for, and loves His daughters. And because He forgives us, we can forgive ourselves, too. Because of Christ, we can move on from the past and press on toward that to which we've been called. Though we're fantastically human, we're divinely loved.
Perhaps it's best that there are so many reminders of how human we are. Perhaps last week's spilled milk is a blessing because it reminds me that self-sufficiency is not the answer.
Christ invites us to come not as polished, accomplished, capable adults, but as children who listen to and obey their Father, trusting His perfection and His work in their hearts.
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
Do not forget all his kind deeds!
He is the one who forgives all your sins,
who heals all your diseases,
who delivers your life from the Pit,
who crowns you with his loyal love and compassion,
who satisfies your life with good things,
so your youth is renewed like an eagle’s.
Psalm 103:2-5, NET
Not that I have already attained this – that is, I have not already been perfected – but I strive to lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus also laid hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself to have attained this. Instead I am single-minded: Forgetting the things that are behind and reaching out for the things that are ahead, with this goal in mind, I strive toward the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:12-14, NET
Self-sufficiency is not the answer. #Jesus invites us to come not as polished, accomplished, capable adults, but as children. #faith #redemption via @emilyrconrad
Photo credits
Title image designed on Canva.com, photo by Noemí Jiménez on Unsplash
Breaking glass photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
Cereal photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash
Milk was spilling all over the place last week, and I don't just mean literally, though there was some of that, too.
First, a member of my household thought to save a bowl of cereal for later by putting it in the fridge without a cover. When I got up and went for milk to make my coffee, I found the bowl tipped, cereal-dotted milk pooled on the shelf and seeped into the space beneath.
Okay, these things happen.
I handled it and went on to make my coffee. I mindlessly placed the milk for my latte in the microwave and set the timer for at least twice as long as I should've. I discovered it a couple of minutes later, boiled over the beaker and onto the glass plate.
Spilled milk in fantastic fashion. And I don't mean fantastic in a good way.
I cleaned that up, too, but literal spilled milk isn't the only kind I faced. Just one example of figurative spilled milk: I created a memes to advertise my novel, and kept finding mistakes in them--after they'd been shared. Either something wasn't centered correctly or I'd forgotten closing quotes. After fixing and fixing them, I thought I had my act together when I made a new meme quoting kind words a friend and fellow author shared about Justice. Only later did I notice I'd spelled the name of that author's series incorrectly.
Even when I'm trying to keep it all together and do it all right, my humanity spills out in fantastic fashion.
Sometimes, the spill is trivial, and sometimes it is less so. I scramble to wipe it up before anyone notices, but messes have a way of pooling and seeping. Sometimes, it's a mess that affects someone else, like that tipped cereal. And sometimes, the cleanup is entirely beyond me.
It's a vulnerable feeling, this being human thing, and I don't like it. As I notice my sin and failures, spilled milk and more serious infractions, I'm as helpless as the child in the grocery store who dropped the whole gallon of two-percent and watched it sploosh across the floor in ways she could never hope to hide or fix.
She thought she could do it herself. She thought she had it under control. Clearly, she was wrong, and there's no going back now. She gets ready to burst into tears--red face, puffed out cheeks, bunched chin.
She gulps a huge breath of air to power a wail, but then she feels a hand on her shoulder. A big, warm, strong hand. She's not at the store alone. She's there with her father.
He pays for the damaged product. He cleans up the mess. He wipes his daughter's face and places her safely in the cart. He forgives her, teaches her, brings her home, and provides generously for everything she needs--even when she proceeds to tip over her glass of milk there, too. She is his daughter, and his love for her is unconditional. He'll forgive her again and again, clean her up again and again, dry her tears again and again.
Our failings are often more serious than spilled milk. I understand this. But God is more than a human father.
Though we often think we have things under control and can handle them ourselves, we can't. It's beyond us, and it's best we recognize that before we spill.
But like that girl in the grocery store, we are not alone even when we fail. Jesus paid the price. He cleans us up, forgives, teaches, provides for, and loves His daughters. And because He forgives us, we can forgive ourselves, too. Because of Christ, we can move on from the past and press on toward that to which we've been called. Though we're fantastically human, we're divinely loved.
Perhaps it's best that there are so many reminders of how human we are. Perhaps last week's spilled milk is a blessing because it reminds me that self-sufficiency is not the answer.
Christ invites us to come not as polished, accomplished, capable adults, but as children who listen to and obey their Father, trusting His perfection and His work in their hearts.
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
Do not forget all his kind deeds!
He is the one who forgives all your sins,
who heals all your diseases,
who delivers your life from the Pit,
who crowns you with his loyal love and compassion,
who satisfies your life with good things,
so your youth is renewed like an eagle’s.
Psalm 103:2-5, NET
Not that I have already attained this – that is, I have not already been perfected – but I strive to lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus also laid hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself to have attained this. Instead I am single-minded: Forgetting the things that are behind and reaching out for the things that are ahead, with this goal in mind, I strive toward the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:12-14, NET
Self-sufficiency is not the answer. #Jesus invites us to come not as polished, accomplished, capable adults, but as children. #faith #redemption via @emilyrconrad
Photo credits
Title image designed on Canva.com, photo by Noemí Jiménez on Unsplash
Breaking glass photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
Cereal photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash
February 1, 2018
God Only Gives: Tsunami of God’s Love
by Pearl Allard
I swept crumbs from under the dinner table deep in thought. Three separate sources of words – a book, a phone conversation, and a question – collided, and I puzzled through the fragmented thoughts.
Maybe Christ doesn’t want codependence so much as He wants co-laborers? But I don’t even know what that means.
I’m all in, God! Even if it’s painful, I’m all in. Not like I want the pain. (Right? Who does.) But what other real option is there? To whom else can we turn? But what does that really mean that I’m all in?
Perhaps to be all in really means that He is all in me. That I am completely open to Him. To leave the hands open, as Ann Voskamp would say in The Broken Way.
It’s a hard thing to trust and leave oneself open.
My mama tried that – and watched death snatch her only son at twenty-eight years young. A handful of years later and here we were – my mama and I in a phone conversation lasting hours that felt like minutes. We both remembered when minutes felt like hours.
Read more »
I swept crumbs from under the dinner table deep in thought. Three separate sources of words – a book, a phone conversation, and a question – collided, and I puzzled through the fragmented thoughts.
Maybe Christ doesn’t want codependence so much as He wants co-laborers? But I don’t even know what that means.
I’m all in, God! Even if it’s painful, I’m all in. Not like I want the pain. (Right? Who does.) But what other real option is there? To whom else can we turn? But what does that really mean that I’m all in?
Perhaps to be all in really means that He is all in me. That I am completely open to Him. To leave the hands open, as Ann Voskamp would say in The Broken Way.
It’s a hard thing to trust and leave oneself open.
My mama tried that – and watched death snatch her only son at twenty-eight years young. A handful of years later and here we were – my mama and I in a phone conversation lasting hours that felt like minutes. We both remembered when minutes felt like hours.
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January 30, 2018
Jesus and All the Things
by Emily Conrad
I knew launching my first book would keep me busy. Or I theorized that it might. But I think I also kind of expected things to fall into place as the event got closer. Sometimes that happens.
Unfortunately, this time, I'm scrambling a little bit. I owe a handful of people blog posts, in addition to keeping up with my own blog and coordinating the launch team. I may or may not also have a couple of other writing projects to work on, plus there are the normal family responsibilities. I probably don't even have to confess this part, but here it is: I've dropped the ball a couple of times.
Somewhere in the midst of this, I got to thinking I should tweet about trying to do #allthethings.
Yes. Definitely must work that hashtag in. Very fitting. I'll be in good company, and it's super-accurate that, as a hashtag, there will be no spaces between the words. No spaces!
But as soon as I thought of using #allthethings, another Voice shot back, "But one thing is necessary."
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I knew launching my first book would keep me busy. Or I theorized that it might. But I think I also kind of expected things to fall into place as the event got closer. Sometimes that happens.
Unfortunately, this time, I'm scrambling a little bit. I owe a handful of people blog posts, in addition to keeping up with my own blog and coordinating the launch team. I may or may not also have a couple of other writing projects to work on, plus there are the normal family responsibilities. I probably don't even have to confess this part, but here it is: I've dropped the ball a couple of times.
Somewhere in the midst of this, I got to thinking I should tweet about trying to do #allthethings.
Yes. Definitely must work that hashtag in. Very fitting. I'll be in good company, and it's super-accurate that, as a hashtag, there will be no spaces between the words. No spaces!
But as soon as I thought of using #allthethings, another Voice shot back, "But one thing is necessary."
Read more »
January 25, 2018
Shielding Your Creative Fire from Perfectionism
by Emily Conrad
My very favorite part of the fiction-writing process is drafting the story. I love sitting at my computer and typing out a scene. I love rereading what I did the day before and then going on to the next portion. I'm on fire, and everything’s glowing—maybe the story isn't perfect, but to me, throughout that process, it seems pretty close to it.
But then the initial creative part ends. Feedback points out faults with the story that I didn’t see myself. My confidence ebbs. Perfectionism rears its head and tells me the story will never be what I thought it was or what I hoped it would be when I created it. Discouraged, I struggle to maintain the fire I had for the story.
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My very favorite part of the fiction-writing process is drafting the story. I love sitting at my computer and typing out a scene. I love rereading what I did the day before and then going on to the next portion. I'm on fire, and everything’s glowing—maybe the story isn't perfect, but to me, throughout that process, it seems pretty close to it.
But then the initial creative part ends. Feedback points out faults with the story that I didn’t see myself. My confidence ebbs. Perfectionism rears its head and tells me the story will never be what I thought it was or what I hoped it would be when I created it. Discouraged, I struggle to maintain the fire I had for the story.
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January 23, 2018
When Deliverance Involves Hardships
by Emily Conrad
I’m a good second-guesser. I can agonize over a decision and pray and seek counsel and, finally, make up my mind—only to later doubt I did the right thing.
The doubts come running when things don’t go like I’d planned. This is harder than I thought it’d be. It’s taking longer. So-and-so has it so much better; why didn’t I do what she’s doing? This can’t be how God’s will looks
In the throes of one of my worry/pity parties, my husband prayed that God would give me a glimmer of his wisdom to give me peace.
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I’m a good second-guesser. I can agonize over a decision and pray and seek counsel and, finally, make up my mind—only to later doubt I did the right thing.
The doubts come running when things don’t go like I’d planned. This is harder than I thought it’d be. It’s taking longer. So-and-so has it so much better; why didn’t I do what she’s doing? This can’t be how God’s will looks
In the throes of one of my worry/pity parties, my husband prayed that God would give me a glimmer of his wisdom to give me peace.
Read more »
