the africa book

I thought I'd give you a snippet of what I'm working on these days. Right now I'm desperately seeking to get through the first draft of my first non-fiction book (and quite possibly my last. Good grief is non-fiction harder for me to write than fiction!) so I'm not first-drafting two books at once.

This book, which will be published by Zondervan, not only talks about our trip to Swaziland, which has the dubious honor of having the worlds highest HIV/AIDS rate, but also the journey from a woman who wanted to care about justice, to a woman who does. It's been a good process. Here's a bit to, hopefully, whet your appetite:

Well, I couldn’t move Denise down with me, so God sent me another prophet, Jarrod. He used to be a Methodist Minister and is now a chaplain for people in hospice. This is a very good thing because Jarrod is one of the funniest people I know, can tell a story far better than I can, and he truly could cheer up those who are dying.

So, I admit it, despite all of Denise’s words to me, I still kept God the Father at arm’s length. I understood He wanted me to love Him, but how to really do that remained a mystery. Enter Jarrod who, during a time of prayer, zeroed in on my father issues. Thanks for that, man. But even an atheist might be tempted to believe something supernatural and unexplainable by nature was afoot.

This past February, just before Lent began, Jarrod stopped by and we prayed together. He asked me, “Do you want to get to know God the Father?”

I had to think for a minute. I wanted to answer honestly, not the answer I was supposed to say if I was a good Christian lady. “I want to want to.”

He nodded. “That’s good. That sounds honest.”

“He says there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s not going to hurt you.”

I wanted to believe that. I really did.

We prayed together. I began to read Brennan Manning at Jarrod’s suggestion, and at night I’d tell the Father over and over, “Abba, I belong to you. Abba, I belong to you.”

Something happened. It was gentle and almost untraceable. But I found my heart began to soften. Just a little. Loving the Father didn’t seem like something so darned impossible, in fact maybe it was all really true, maybe that verse that says “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called sons and daughters of God.” So this is what the writer meant? God really can be my father? Why should he care so much? Why, when he has such bigger things to worry about, does he want me plugged into his life so badly? I still can’t comprehend that desire on God’s part to commune with me, and you, but I know it’s true. That has to be enough. And it is.

Jarrod called me just as Lent began. “Just sit back and watch. The Father is going to who you how much he loves you. Jesus says don’t worry about him, He’s glad to step out of the way. He’ll be fine.”

I’ve always been a little in love with Jesus. I wouldn’t have wanted to have hurt his heart by focusing on the Father. I know this is contrary to everything he said in scripture about his love for the father, how if we’ve seen him we’ve seen the father, how he glorifies in the father. I’m just a one-man woman I guess. Not an easy place to be when trying to know and love a Triune God!

So, I continued to pray, continue to inch closer to the Father in Heaven who knew how much I needed to love Him, who knew my heart was dying inside, withering without the nourishing light of the sustainer of the universe.

Was I a Christian? Was I “saved?” Yes, I believe that. I believe my love for Jesus because of His great Love for me covered the basics. That Christ bridged the chasm of eternity. But until I realized God the Father truly loved me, my spiritual life was incomplete, undernourished, unable to learn to trust. I didn’t really trust God. There it is. I said it.

That Lenten season was amazing. My book, Quaker Summer, was given two prestigious awards I never thought I’d ever have, Will was hired as a professor at a wonderful college nearby, to name a few things. Book sales were so much greater than they’d ever been. I was amazed. And so thankful. What Jarrod told me was coming to pass. Amazing.

Finally, just shy of Easter, the Father put the cherry on top of the entire confection of affection he’d given me. The women of my intentional community were enjoying a weekend retreat at the Sisters of Loreto’s motherhouse near Bardstown, KY. The spiritual writer, Thomas Merton, was a monk at the nearby monastery of Gethsemani. A peaceful air surrounded the compound as we drove onto the grounds, then unpacked and settled into the retreat house.

We enjoyed a concert at the chapel, talked with an eccentric religious sister who was the artist in residence for the order, whose massive sculpture boggled the mind when compared to her stature. And of course, we ate together and talked with each other, just enjoying the time together.

Now let me confess something about myself. I fight against materialism. When I first married Will I was upset because we didn’t have a house that first year. (Was I clueless or what?) I pictured myself moving up in the world, belonging to a country club someday, wearing gorgeous clothing, having the perfect dishware, good furniture like Thomasville or Henredon. And shoes? Oh I’d have a closet full someday! People were so upset at Imelda Marcos’s shoe collection, but I totally understood!

As we’ve journeyed down the road of life, I’ve had to put some of those dreams aside. There were times I gave into that mind-set, taking way too many trips to T.J. Maxx, buying things because I liked them, not because I needed them or because they were wall that useful. I already told you about our big house and nice cars too.

And yet.

Despite what seems like a materialist life at this point in time, there was one item I never allowed myself to buy. Every time a catalogue from The Company Store arrived I leisurely flipped through the pages, enjoying all the colors and textures, because, let’s face it, bedding is just utterly fabulous. Every time I’d get a little yearny because I knew “the page” was coming, “the page” I’d been looking at since I was a young married, “the page” that held the one thing I’d always wanted but had never indulged myself and purchased.

The luscious down comforter.

Yes. One day I bought a synthetic down-style comforter, but oh, it just couldn’t compare to the buttery, puffy yuminess of a real down comforter. I’d spent loads of money on stupid stuff over the years, but never dove into the world of down. To this day, I wonder why I didn’t. I was able to justify just about everything else I bought but didn’t need.

Back to Loreto.

One evening, we were sitting around the kitchen table with cups of tea and Heidi’s amazing chocolate chip cookies sitting in a Tupperware tub in the middle. I’m not sure how the topic came up; I was probably complaining about the cold in my house. We keep it at 60 degrees in the winter, telling about that winter’s system of throwing a quilt in the dryer for five minutes, then snatching it out and running through the house with a “Nobody get it my way!” Then, bundling in the warmth beneath my bedspread. Now that is the way to warm up your bed! No need for electric blankets. Your body heat takes over right away.

The women laughed at my antics. My loathing of winter and the chilly house is well-known to them as I do nothing but complain every season. Sherry suddenly said, “Do you not have down comforter? Those heat up right away.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve always wanted one. I hear they’re great.” I wasn’t going to tell her about all those wistful glances at the glossy catalogue pages over the years.

“My mother bought us an extra one. You’re more than willing to have it if you’d like.”

Of course, I wasn’t about to turn that down.

Only God knew of that desire. Only he knew the one thing he could give me that would say, “It’s all true. I love you. I know you. Everything about you. I want you to have the one desire of your heart you never allowed yourself.”

And so, at forty-three years of age, I finally, truly, gave my heart to God my father. I realized he loved me. I could trust him. I could love him and it would be okay. No matter what storm came my way, what pain and disappointment lie ahead, he would be surrounding me like that comforter.

What does all this have to do with justice? Well, it tells me I can’t misrepresent the love of God to anyone. It should tell us how to run our charities, our churches, and above all it shows us how to love. And what if love isn’t at the heart of justice? St. Paul wasn’t just blowing smoke when he said, “And though I give all my goods to feed the poor and have not love, it profits me nothing.”

Giving without loving is the surefire recipe for burnout. Know you’re loved by God the Father, draw close to him. You can trust him.

Comments

[Mary E. DeMuth]

Love your tone, friendliness, and deep amazing thoughts here Lisa. Thanks. You may not think NF is your thing, but it's coming along well.

[Jeanne Damoff]

I'm so glad you're writing this book. If you need a critique buddy, my heart would be all over this one.

[wilsonian]

Can't wait to hold this in my hands!

[alana]

I wish I knew truly deeply in my gut that God loves me that way, too. Pray for me.

[alana]

I wish I knew truly deeply in my gut that God loves me that way, too. Pray for me.

[Elysa]

Simply yet profoundly, beautifully amazing! God's love, His grace, and how He's working in your life and your expressing it.

I agree with "Wilsonian" (Hey, E!), I can't wait to read this book.

And I guess this is what you said you realized after your African trip when you got into writing the book?

[Candace]

Oh wow, that is awesome! Can't wait to read the whole thing. Quaker Summer and Embrace Me are 2 of my all time favorite books ever. :) This one looks fabulous too...

Candace

[Elysa]

Hey Lisa---Have they set a release date yet for this book?