miseducation of privilege: week 3

The next post in our series comes from my friend, Precious Jones. There is so much honesty and so much wisdom in this essay. She challenged me to consider my passivity of privilege and moving toward of lifestyle of reconciliation rather that a quick fix. I continue to pray for each reader of this series. May God engage you heart and mind in a new way

As a Black Christian woman I have more anxiety on the Sunday or Monday following tragic events such as the #Charlottesville attack because the work of racial reconciliation is exhausting.  The Sunday following Charlottesville (which happened to be less than 24 hours later), I remember being hopeful as I entered church that I would regain some of my sanity.  At least a little bit.  Thinking to myself,  this Sunday at least one non-person of color would come up to me and legitimize the concern I privately expressed to many.  I recounted the personal conversations held following the election of our President regarding his rhetoric and lack of empathy for non-whites.  At the time, I shared that I thought his views would give credence to those who held extremist and racist views to become hyper-visible and less concerned with "hiding" their views or their faces.  We witnessed that in #Charlottesville.

This was not a moment of wanting to be right.  This was a moment of wanting to be validated.  I wanted to feel sane, if only for a moment.  The context here is that I have spent countless hours listening, sharing, and praying with congregants and colleagues as we earnestly look to live reconciled.   Yet, I exited my phenotypically diverse church that day without a single conversation or acknowledgement from a white person.  I exited with increased ache in my heart.  I exited wondering how many more Sundays will I sit in this pew and wrestle with the passivity of privilege and the tone policing of my voice. I then hoped for a face to face conversation, text, phone call on Tuesday, Wednesday, or any day.  It did not occur.  Exhaustion enters stage right.

After reflecting on Amy's blog, How Do I Handle My Privilege, and her compelling question at the end which asked, "What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?"  I stumbled upon a revelation.  

In the United States of America, privilege has been a silent teacher for hundreds of years.  Privilege, white privilege, for those who possess it, has taught that good things will come to them simply because of who they are - even if that good thing is racial reconciliation.  

Many would argue that hatred is a learned behavior.  I'd contend that just as hatred is taught, so is the passivity of privilege.  It is mostly taught without using words.  Privilege by its very nature is passive.  It demands absolutely nothing of its possessor. It teaches its possessor to protect it at all cost.  Privilege indirectly teaches that if one desires racial reconciliation, then it will be achieved by simply waiting for the "perfect, comfortable, opportunity" to have a difficult conversation, ask an awkward question, or get to know a person outside of your ethnicity.  Privilege has written thousands of history books and passed hundreds of laws. And with events like #Charlottesville, it waits patiently to reconcile.  We've been miseducated, and the western church has been an active pupil. 

Miseducation definition: a wrong or deficient education

Racial reconciliation is costly.  It takes work.  

Many desire racial reconciliation through a five-step process or a "quick read." I've had countless people ask me to give them a resource to navigate this difficult and messy space. For instance, there’s a local church in our city that offers a fantastic six week workshop on race which creates a safe space for people in the community to listen to one another, grow in empathy, and dialogue.  However, I’ve encountered many who’ve been content with attending this six week session and reference this as their “work” in racial reconciliation. I commend people for attending; however, when this session ends, the work of racial reconciliation doesn’t. If the only desire is a resource, racial reconciliation may not be realized.  It happens over time through empathy, honesty, contrition, and proximity.  Get close. Get uncomfortable. Get honest. 

If the American church desires to really model racial reconciliation, the Church must re-educate itself. Learn from Black folks.  Listen to Black folks.  Lament with Black folks.  Let Black folks lead.

I don't want a racial reconciliation that demands more of one follower of Christ than the other.  I pray that my encounter on the Sundays following tragic events are less anxious and more intentional.  As Amy stated in the previous blog, may we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high.

As a follower of Christ, I remain hopeful that racial reconciliation will occur in earnest as I continue to engage in uncomfortable conversations, love others where they are, and speak truth to power. I'm encouraged that others are doing the same.  I have not thrown in the towel on racial reconciliation. Each day I hold tightly to the hope I have in Christ, anchored by the reality of my desperate need for Jesus as I do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God.

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. - John 15:13 

Maybe the first act of laying down one's life is to lay down the passivity of privilege.

As we lay down our respective privilege, I pray that we build authentic relationships across multiple ethnic groups, help restore broken communities, and recognize systems that perpetuate marginalization for disadvantaged groups. May we use our power, resources, and influence to tear these oppressive systems down; decision by decision.  Racial Reconciliation, like sanctification (process of becoming more like Christ), is worked out daily.  It is not a one time act.  It is a lifestyle. 

The church has been "waiting" for racial reconciliation for too long.  Let's intentionally give differently, life differently, and love differently.  Not just in words, but in lifestyle.

May privilege be ousted as primary instructor in the work of racial reconciliation and be replaced by empathy that leads to action.

"He has told you, O man, what is good;

 and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justice, and to lovindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?"

 Micah 6:8 ESV

*****

Precious Jones is the proud daughter of parents who've known struggle. The familial impact of poverty and struggle shape her writing. She works in youth & education advocacy for those marginalized. She's a former Electrical engineer who delights in creating through writing. She is a proud southerner turned foodie who loves people more than she loves good food and a good read. She resides in Cincinnati, OH and candidly shares her predilections [bias, leaning, weakness, & predisposition] on her blog, Precious Predilections.

how do I handle my white privilege: week 2

The second post in our collaborative blog series comes from Amy Seiffert. In this essay, Amy talks honestly about how God has called her to use her white privilege to serve. Amy and I are joining two other women in this blog series, and it is our collective prayer that these essays will spark both conversation and courage to follow Christ's example of love.

"Life's most persistent and urgent question is: What are you doing for other?" -Martin Luther King, Jr.

My name is Amy, and I have white privilege. I was born into a white, middle class, educated family. I got a college degree and married a white male who also has his degree and is now a small business owner. We have three kids and reside in a predominately white neighborhood in a college town.

I deeply miss the diverse relationships I had in high school; we had various cultures, religions, and races in my friend circle. Korean, Black, Indian, Arabic, Mexican, White, Jewish, Hindu, Christian. I miss recognizing and celebrating diverse friendships, having the weeds of prejudice pulled from my white privilege perspective, and raising my children with a colorful and beautiful view of the world. 

I miss the daily academic environment where the table is set to have hard conversations. We had many respectful and robust discussions about our distinct heritages. We not only talked, we were in each others' home. I loved the food, the practices, the clothing, and the family life of my friends who were very different from me. My family now continues to cultivate relationships with other races that are around us, but we would love to - we need to -  cultivate more. The richness of other races in our lives grows such beauty, humility, understanding, joy, and hope. Our soul-soil is in great deficit when we close it off to any kind of vital diversity.

Privilege, according to the Oxford Dictionary, is: "a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people."

Privilege can feel as obvious as our skin color and as subtle as our literacy.

Even right now, if you are reading this blog, your literacy gives you advantage. I absolutely amen "education is a right, not a privilege" - but we can agree, for those who can read, these is an absolute upper hand.

And today, as I come together with four different kinds of women, writing four diverse kinds of blog posts about privilege, race, ethnicity, reconciliation, fear, hopes, and dreams - we also have one common denominator: Jesus.

I sit humbled and thankful that King Jesus is King of a colorful Kingdom. His rule and reign is one where every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He is Lord when it's all said and done. "Every" being the game-changer. We will not be segmented under His rule, we will come under one allegiance, and we will all bow down on the same, level ground next to the cross.

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and people and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothes in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God. -Revelation 7:9-11

King Jesus had stunning leadership regarding privilege. He was enthroned in glory, fully God, crowned in all comfort. And He laid it all down. He put down His rights, His throne, His everything. Nothing was taken with Him when He took up human skin and moved into the neighborhood. Paul explains this beautifully.

Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn't think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn't claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death - and the worst kind of death at that - a crucifixion. -Philippians 2:5-8 MSG

It is temping to forget that this is GOD who lived this way. Setting the pace for the good life, He set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave. He took up a towel, got down on His knees, and washed grimy feet.

He served his heart out, to the point of death. 

And so when it circles back to us, to me, I have a big question to answer: What do I specifically do with my white privilege? I often freeze just thinking about my advantages, I feel guilty about them, or I hide them because I don't know how to handle them well. I want to weed out the prejudices in the garden of my heart and sow seeds of racial reconciliation; I feel sad and embarrassed when I find incongruities in my soul. Who can help us in handling our white privilege?

Praise be to God! If we take our cues from the King, we will find the answer. We don't have to struggle or hide or be perfect with our privilege.

Like Jesus, we simply lay them down to serve.

After some soul-searching, just one of the ways my entire family can lay down our white privilege and serve the underprivileged is begin a Licensed Foster Care Family. Before you object in your heart and think "that's for saints" - please reconsider. Those who foster are not saints, they simple have a safe home. The requirement to foster is very basic: a safe environment.

At different times this past year, we have laid down our routines, our comforts, our possessions, and had children in our home for short periods of time (we have done short-term Respite Care), giving a sweet child (we've housed Hispanic, black, and white children) a safe place to be in the middle of insanity. In the middle of abuse. In the middle of drugs. 

Do we lay aside our white privilege perfectly? Absolutely not. Do we try to by faith? Yes. Even if it's the size of a peppercorn. This is the way King Jesus lived, always by faith. He came down by faith, He laid aside everything by faith, He died by faith  - faith in the resurrection to come.

I often have the famous phrase "With great privilege comes great responsibility," running through my mind. And I can freeze.

But, friends, if you also freeze - let's unthaw together and simply serve.

Let's serve in as many ways as we can. Serve in little ways and great ways. Serve with our voices when we see injustice and serve with our actions when we see helplessness. Serve using our strength for the weak and leveraging our power for the vulnerable.

What privilege do you have, and how can you use it to serve the underprivileged?

May we be known by what we lay down, rather than by any privilege we hold high. 

*****

Amy Seiffert is a wife of 17 years and mom of 3, who never thought she would love raising her family in a small college town. She words at Brookside Church as the Director of Outward Movement and has the privilege of occasionally preaching. Amy loves tennis, ice cream, and making beautiful things. In between diaper changes, laundry, and soccer practice, she writes, blogs, speaks, and is working on her book on motherhood. She has been in a monthly book club for 17 years and cannot believe Oprah has not brought them on her show. Amy inspires, teachers, and humble relates to the mystery and messiness of life. She tells all at www.amyseiffert.com.

. 

perspectives on privilege & racial reconciliation: week 1

A few months ago, my dear friend Mika came to me with an idea. I love when Mika has ideas.

She invited me to be part of a blog collaboration on the topic of racial reconciliation and privilege. The Lord has used a number of circumstances over the past year to awaken my eyes and heart to the marginalized in our world. Rather than apologizing for the life of privilege God has given me, I am now seeing ways He asks me to use my privilege to speak up rather than look away. I refuse to believe Satan's lie that this problem is too big, too heavy, and is better to just ignore. Writing is one way I speak up.

It is my great honor to welcome Mika as a guest writer to 44 & Oxford. She is getting us started by sharing her heart for this collaboration. Over the next month, you will hear from myself and two other beautiful women on the topics of privilege and racial reconciliation.

By Guest Writer, Shamika Karikari

Heather and Holly were the first friends I made in school. It was back in 1990 when I was 5 years old and in kindergarten. They were also twins which made our friendship extra special for my twin sister and me. And they were white. I could not have anticipated that our afternoon kindergarten class at Becker Elementary would be the beginning of my ability to build genuine friendships across race. 

From a young age I noticed segregated spaces around me. I vividly remember my twin sister and I often being the only Black faces in a sea of white spaces. We had a way of making white people feel comfortable. Some of this rubbed off from our parents who were always open to white people, even when the gesture was not returned. We dated white boys, had white friends over for dinner and sleepover, and my parents were unfazed. Looking back, I see how my upbringing forced me to navigate white spaces with ease and confidence, but also at a cost. The cost of giving up some of me in order to be more palatable to white people was high. I didn't have the language to articulate this then, but now I understand that tension more deeply.

As an adult, I see the racial divide continues. Although I haven't been called a nigger, I have experienced other racial slurs and microaggressions. In recent years I have witnessed countless Black women and men killed by police officers for being Black. People like Sandra Bland, Rekia Boyd, Sam DuBose, Mike Brown, and the list goes on and on. Our Black skin continues to be reason enough to be feared. 

I've organized spaces to grieve these unjust deaths. 

I've participated in discussions to process these unjust deaths. 

I've protested these unjust deaths. 

And yet, I still have a desire to do more. I've felt God lay on my heart the role I should play in regards to racial reconciliation in the Christian community. 

I go to a church whose values are devotion, discipleship, and diversity. 

I have Christian friends of many races. 

And yet, the divide still feels great. 

Sometimes the weight of racial division in the U.S. feels so great I'm left paralyzed to do anything.

And I think a lot of us can agree with that feeling. 

We think the problem is too big, so we do nothing. 

And although this is an easy place to land, I know God has called me to do more.

To trust him to bring racial reconciliation to our community and for me to do my part in that. 

So I asked myself, what could I do in my sphere of influence? What could my contribution be? I love writing and love people; why not start there? And this is how this blog collaboration was born. Since I write in my blog, albeit infrequent, I know I have a diverse readership, which isn't something I see often. Typically I see blogs that either speak to white women or women of color. I rarely find writing that intentionally has both in mind. I wanted to change that, so I decided to bring three of my friends along for the journey. Precious, Amy, & Joy are all insightful and engaging writers who love Jesus. They are women I admire, women I trust, and women whose lights shine brightly. These are the type of women everyone deserves to hear from. We each committed to write an essay focused around themes of racial reconciliation and privilege from our unique lived experiences. We also committed to share the other three posts on our respective blogs so our readers are exposed to multiple perspectives.

A four week blog series isn't going to end systemic racism or racial division; however, I know God has called me to do something, and I will obey. As well, I know God can and does use us to advance his kingdom even if I have no clue what the outcome of this collaboration will be. God has only asked me to have a willing heart and trust him to do the rest. And that's what I'm going to do - follow God's prompting and trust he will use four women to begin conversation around racial reconciliation because God's heart is to see his people unified and reconciled.

So as you journey with us, I pray your heart will be open to what God wants to reveal to you.

I pray you would open your heart to each of our perspective that were uniquely designed by God.

I pray you are empowered to do something based on your role in racial reconciliation.

I pray you would be quick to listen and slow to speak.

How gracious of God to use someone as broken as me for his glory. How will he use you?

*****

Mika Karikari is a proud Black woman who loves Jesus, baking, sports, and writing. She currently spends most of her time reading and writing for her PhD program in higher education administration. She lives in her beloved hometown, Cincinnati, Ohio with her handsome husband. Mika's writing can be found on her blog, I am Enough. It currently focuses on grief, social justice, poetry, and faith

all this from deodorant

I turned 34 in January, and Stephen bought me a six-pack of deodorant.

I'd been out of deodorant for over a week and was using his Old Spice. I didn't mind, but apparently, he did.

Gifts aren't my thing. I'm crummy at giving them, and a spoilsport when receiving them. I like practical gifts that equate to a crossed off item from my to-do list; in this case, buy deodorant. It is tempting to blame this lame attitude on the busyness of motherhood, but sadly, I've been like this for years.

Soon after Stephen and I were married, his mom gave me a jumbo pack of paper towels and toilet paper as a Christmas gift. She did this as a joke, but I was overjoyed. Last year she gave me cleaning supplies, and this past Christmas she wrapped up diapers for our two-year-old son. Best. Gift. Ever.

A year-long supply of Secret deodorant was speaking my love language. I thanked Stephen, and then opened the card tucked away in the bottom of the bag. As much as I adored my deodorant, this card contained unexpected life-giving words. I froze. I reread. 

"I'm taking the kids to Columbus this weekend. You will have approximately 30 hours at home by yourself. Pour some wine, turn on Netflix, and eat any food you want without having to share with the kids!"

Come Saturday morning, I shooed the three of them out by 9. I waved good-bye from the front porch, both giddy with excitement and overwhelmed by freedom. I walked back inside ready to fulfill my first fantasy: a clean floor. I swept the kitchen and gleefully anticipated the beauty of thirty crumb-free hours.

I showered - with no interruptions - and then opened my new deodorant. I hadn't used Secret since I started buying my own deodorant. The past fourteen years have seen more Suave or whatever's-on-sale deodorant. Stephen had sprung for the deluxe; it was my birthday after all.

I lifted the lid and popped off the plastic protective shield. The smell rushed me back to my childhood bathroom. I could see my 3-inch curling iron forcing the tips of my hair outward. I could see my hot pink Caboodle bursting with Lip Smackers and an extensive Bath and Body Works collection lining the counter. I could see myself buckling the strap of my overalls, choosing from an array of chokers, and slipping into Doc Martins to complete the ensemble.

I love remembering that girl, and it is much easier to do when I am alone. I closed up the deodorant and went down to our basement. I moved a stack of heavy boxes until I found the one I wanted, tucked in the back and near the bottom. At least a dozen journals dating back to second grade were lined up like soldiers in that box. I pulled a few out. No plans? No interruptions? It seemed like the perfect time to curl up, do some reading, and hang out with that girl.

*****

Over the past few months, I have been thinking about childhood and adulthood, and the pages of those journals brought clarity to my fragmented thoughts. Sometimes I think that girl is lost, but as I read about her day to day drama, I remembered life when I spent time doing what I enjoyed. Brilliant. There was work time and play time, and I was good at both.

But I'm not sure how those pieces of who I used to be can still fit into who I am and who I am becoming.

I used to think adulthood was about moving on and leaving behind silly pastimes of childhood. I felt foolish, even embarrassed, when I wondered what happened to all the fun. Fun? Pastimes? Grow up. I was convinced I needed to created a new mature self. It was all rather thrilling at first, embarking on independent territory, finally doing whatever it was adults did that seemed so mysterious. But after a solid decade of trying, rethinking, examining, and transforming into adulthood, I am beginning to think I've got it all wrong.

Maybe adulthood isn't about leaving behind and moving ahead.

Maybe I don't need to create a new grown-up Joy.

Maybe I need to rediscover a former self, sort through to find the best, and settle in for the long haul. That's what I'm doing right now - sorting through and settling in.

I am participating in Coffee + Crumbs' Year of Creativity, and one of our first assignments was to reflect on this question: "What were some of your favorite creative activities as a child?"

When I was younger, I loved to write. I found hours to lay on the floor and write through life. I wrote dozens of notes to all my friends to be delivered the next day at school. I filled journals and notebooks with real stuff and trivial stuff. I wrote about what it meant to love Jesus and about when each of my girlfriends got their first period. I wrote about how I wanted to be skinny and about how much I loved this boy named Dan. It all mattered.

When I was younger, I loved to dance. The dance studio and stage were my happy places, but I was equally content to pump up Janet Jackson on the 6-disc stereo system in the basement and choreograph fourteen different music videos to Rhythm Nation. I could choreograph an entire dance in my head as I lay in bed, sometimes slipping out of the covers to mark a few steps in my dark bedroom. I leapt through parking lots, tap danced while brushing my teeth, and can still bust out a rather impressive full body roll in the passenger seat of a car. My dad and brother made a rule that I couldn't dance at the dinner table, so when the rhythm hit me, I would stand up and dance next to the table. My shimmy and shake just couldn't be stopped.

When I was younger, I loved being around kids. I planned summer camps for the kids in our neighborhood. I volunteered in children's church and worked as a camp counselor. I was the babysitter who came with a bag full of fun, and if there were no real kids to entertain, I'd enlist a handful of make believe children to participate in crafts and science experiments. I dreamed of being a teacher and had the greatest classroom on the block set up in my basement, complete with a lesson plan book, math textbooks, and an overhead projector. Kids were my jam.

When I was younger, I thought a lot about food. I figured this meant I was destined to be overweight my entire life because none of my size-two friends ever seemed to think about food. I didn't know about cooking or menu planning or entertaining, but I flipped through cookbooks and magazine to dogear recipes. I rarely made any of these dishes but still loved to look.

What if these were more than just hobbies or memories from my childhood? What if God intended for me to write and dance and create and love children and um...eat, all my life?

I look around at 34, and there are surprising similarities to 16.

Yesterday, I got up early and spent an hour writing. A few hours later I taught a Zumba class that included a new salsa dance I choreographed last weekend. I took my kids to the park, and we did some crafting and Popsicle making when we got home. During their nap time, I planned lessons for a kindergarten and first grade jumpstart camp I'm teaching next week. And later in the day, I made a new recipe for dinner - citrus marinated pork tenderloin with a mint pesto.

I couldn't see how each of these passions had a place in my life during my twenties. I thought I had to let them go, particularly if they didn't lend themselves to an income. But I was wrong.

One by one, they have each found their way back to me at just the right time. I love the thought that my childhood passions are still there, woven into my soul, eager to resurface and forgive me for the years they were neglected.

All this from deodorant.

I wonder what would happened if I opened a bottle of CK1.

why lu and beth are rocking my world

I would like to introduce you to my friend, Beth. Although if you've been around 44 & Oxford for awhile, you have met her before.

She is the one who invited me for pancakes when I had no friends.

She is the one who fixed my shelves when interior decorating gave me hives.

And she and her hubby were the ones who hosted Smokefest 2015, twelve glorious hours of meat smoking, pie making goodness. 

Our paths first crossed in 2009 during a class at our church for young married couples. We were both young and both married; surely we'd be compatible.

We made casual small talk for a few years, and I always wanted to be her friend. She was witty and confident and had the cutest curly-headed little boy I had ever seen. It only took four years, but she eventually called me. All of her friends had left Oxford, and I'm pretty sure she was lonely. It worked out well because all my friends had also left Oxford, and I was lonely too. It wasn't the most thrilling of pick up lines; she asked me to help her plan the women's event at our church. I was kinda hoping for something more like tacos and margaritas, but I said yes right away. She was surprised and said she was prepared to whoo me into agreement by taking me out for pancakes. Now you're talking. I said yes again. It was during this breakfast date that I learned Beth cuts her entire stack of pancakes into small bites before she begins eating. It's so cute.

A few weeks ago, Beth's first novel, Lu. was released.

I feel so proud and so impressed I could just burst. We've spent countless hours over the past two years talking about writing and what it looks to write when you're a mom of young kids and what it means to obey God and trust God in your writing. We've talked about how to write when you don't feel like it and how to write when no one is reading it. I love talking about writing with Beth, but mostly I love talking about life with her. She's the real deal - honest, messy, present, committed, and doing it with confidence that she is loved by God.

Last summer Beth showed up at my door with the first draft of her book.

It was good.

Like really good.

Like I-can't-believe-I-know-the-person-who-wrote-this good.

I want you to hear from Beth, and I want you to hear about this story. Then I want you to buy this story and read it and give it someone. (Or enter to win two copies below!) I believe in this story, and am joining alongside Beth in prayer "for the girls who are looking but still haven't found - this one's for you."

*****

This "interview" took place at Beth's house on a Thursday morning with five children underfoot. We were interrupted no less than fifty seven times by these darlings despite our unashamed attempts to quiet them with yogurt tubes, Netflix, and monkey bread. 

Joy: Hi Beth.

Beth: Hi.

Joy: Your son is riding his bike in the street.

Beth: Oh shoot. Be right back. (Timeout.) Ok, go ahead.

Joy: Hi Beth.

Beth: Hi Joy.

Joy: Now my daughter is drawing with chalk on the side of your house.

Beth: That's fine.

Joy: OK, I have some early memories of meeting you at church. What are some of your early memories of our friendship?

Beth: I remember you came and talked to me after church one Sunday, and you were wearing a cute wide belt.

Joy: I was? What color belt? Black?

Beth: I don't remember.

Joy: I only have one. It must have been the black one. I never wear that anymore.

Beth: Oh you should. It was cute. Then there was this period of time we only knew each other by mutual friends, so we had a good year or two of awkward encounters - the kind where you don't know if you need to reintroduce yourself or if you remember one another. I also saw you at the wine festival when you were pregnant with Charlotte, and I kept watching you to see if you'd drink any wine.

Joy: Did I?

Beth: No. Rule follower.

Joy: Right after that was when I came to your house to borrow a maternity dress - the one with the pockets.

Beth: Yes! All dresses should have pockets! But we really didn't become friends until 2014 when my friends moved away and your friends moved away, and we were the only ones left in Oxford. I guess we were each other's B list, but it turned out alright.

Joy: You will forever be the friend who taught me to love pancakes. Before you, I would have said that pancakes were just fine. I didn't know what I was missing. What are your secrets to a really good pancake?

Beth: Definitely! Number one: Use a hot cast iron pan. Number two: Use butter in the pancake batter but cook them in canola oil.

Joy: Wait. Really? I didn't know that one!

Beth: Oh, Joy. Yes, you need to cook them in canola oil. Number three: Use a recipe that calls for buttermilk. Don't pay any attention to expiration dates, especially if this is the only thing you're buying buttermilk for. It's sour milk anyways. And number four: Let the batter rest for at least a half hour. I don't know why, but I think it makes them fluffier. There might be a scientific explanation, but I'm not a scientist. I'm a writer.

Joy: And I am living proof that this will take your pancake making to a whole new level. I have many memories of sitting at your kitchen table eating pancakes and talking about your book. So now, let's talk about Lu. You've always wanted to write a book. Why this story?

Beth: I always loved reading. When I became a Christian in college, I was excited because it opened up a whole new world of books. But when I went to that market, I was disappointed. The female characters were either too good or too bad.

Joy: But you love Redeeming Love, right?

Beth: (Looking like I'd lost my mind.) Who doesn't love Redeeming Love? But in so many books, I felt like I knew where the plot was going. And when I went to non Christian fiction, I was reading about girls I didn't want to be - girls who were sleeping around, spending money - I didn't like that either. I wanted to find a book where the main girl was a girl I wanted to hang with. It was this character that drew me to writing.

Joy: You started this book seven years ago, but set it aside - which is my nice of saying you quit. Talk to me about that.

Beth:  Yeah, I started writing this book seven years ago. I quit my job to do it, and I put my son in daycare. And then I tortured out seven chapters. It was painstaking. I was unsatisfied, and I was haunted by what success looked like. I thought I'd never reach it. The writing wasn't coming, and I thought if I couldn't get someone to publish this, I was a big, fat failure. So I stopped writing. I failed.

Now I know those seven chapters were a self ambition to glorify my name and make me great. It was necessary that I lay it down completely to get back on the path God had for me. I told God I would never write again unless it was for Him. I thought my writing days were done; I thought I was laying it down for good.

Joy: What happened in those seven years?

Beth: When God called me back to writing three years ago, I spent a full year wrestling with Him. He was saying it was go time, and I was resistant to it. I was nervous about the past, so I was dragging my feet. I feared my past self more than I feared God. But He has a way of frustrating your life when He wants you to do something. It was easier for me to lay my writing down at His feet seven years ago than it was to pick it back up again. I was more comfortable with God as disciplinary than redeemer.

When I finally took that step in faith, not a step to write, but a step to believe He had changed me, to believe the Beth that was sitting down to write this book was a new person, He proved each day how deeply He had healed me. Writing was hard, but it was also deeply satisfying. That kind of contentment and sanctification come from God's hand. You can't conjure that yourself.

Joy: You said "When God called me back to writing." Can you be more tangible and explain what that looked like?

Beth: He put writing in the forefront of my mind. When I laid it down, my prayer was that God would take that desire away. I didn't want to want it anymore. I asked Him to take away any desire that wasn't in keeping with Him. He did this. He took away desires like living in a beautiful house, living in an adventurous place, having a massive bank account, traveling - typical American dream stuff. Over time, I didn't care much about those things. But my desire to write was always there. And it suddenly became persistent; it moved up in the ranks, constant knocking and telling me it was go time.

Joy: You said God frustrated your life. How so?

Beth: I stopped getting enjoyment in other things. Work that had been satisfying wasn't anymore. I also became very envious of my friends who were seizing their dream - like you. I remember when you started this blog. It was something you had wanted to do, and you did it. I was choosing not to, but I saw friends who were. Envy usually isn't a struggle for me. I like to be in the front row clapping, but suddenly I was backed into the corner I had made. God was asking me to write again, but I was too scared.

Joy: I know that most of this book was written between 4 and 6 am. How did you manage that, especially as a mom of three boys?

Beth: This is hard, especially for moms. We have these dreams we want to see accomplished, and as moms, we never want to put the family out. We want to work around them. But in order to do something like a blog or a book or anything big, you have to claim some things for yourself. That is why for me, I needed to claim a name, claim a space, and claim time. For my family dynamic and my natural energy, I had to get up early. There were times the alarm went off, and I didn't want to get up, but I knew that if I didn't get up, I wouldn't write that day. The family did take a hit. I'm not the hottest ticket in town, especially come 7 pm. There were also mornings my oldest came down at 6:30, but he came with a book because he knows I write until 7. I'm OK with that. They get a lot of me the rest of the day.

Joy: What is your hope for this book?

Beth: I hope that a woman who has discounted the idea of God will pick up this book and see the other side to this argument. Because that was me at age 18. Lu, at her core is seeking. She is doubting. She has a lot of questions, and she's smart and independent. She is searching but won't buy something hook, line, and sinker. There is a layering to her journey. She needs to be hit on emotional levels but also on intellectual levels. There is a part in the book where she is challenged to read her Bible. "Just because you read it as a child, doesn't mean it's childish." Christians are thinkers. She needs to discover that Scripture is viable.

I absolutely believe God had me write this book because somewhere there is a girl who needs to read this book and will be saved. I don't know her name but God does. I have stopped praying that it will reach that one because I know it will. Instead, my prayer is that I will know about it.

The numbers are out there. What if I only have 5 likes or only sell 200 books or never recoup my investment? God didn't promise I would. He gave me story and told me to write to reach that girl. So I am praying for her, that she will find this story.

Joy: When I read novels, I often wonder how much of the story the author knew ahead of time. Was this entire story mapped out or was it more of a "bird by bird" kind of thing?

Beth: I had a very basic arch - how a modern woman who looks like you and me would find God.  I knew I wanted her life turning upside down in a way our lives turn upside down, I wanted failed relationships and a failed job. I knew she would put all her eggs in one basket- this city, this job, this guy. But what would happen when that didn't work? And that is where we find Lu at the beginning of the book.

The rest went chapter by chapter. I always knew the next thing to write, but I never knew beyond that. I knew God called me to write this story from the time I was in grad school, but I didn't know how. I did know that obeying God in this book was a daily discipline. So I set my alarm for 4, and I showed up to see what God was going to do, to see what he would have each character do and how it would all come together. It was an adventure. Chances are if there are things in the book that took you by surprise, it took me by surprise too. I became more comfortable with the unknown.

Joy: So what's next?

Beth: Book 2. Which was  a surprise to me. I intended to write one, but the story needed a book two. It was great to write how a woman comes to faith, but book two is about how a woman grows in her faith and how she takes ownership of it. It is a different type of story to write and fun because I get to put her  in a lot of awkward situations. There is tension because the Bible says you're made new, but you're made new in your same old world. Book 2 is the story of how Lu navigates that.

Joy: We also get to find out about the guy, yes?

Beth: Yes. (Insert mischievous smile.)

Joy: Anything else you wanna talk about?

Beth: Well, it must be really exciting to hang out with someone who wrote a book. So let me ask you, what is it like being friends with an author?

Joy: Oh my. Yes, great question. Well, we get to talk about your book all the time, so that's really fun. And last summer, you brought me a copy of your book in a three ring binder the day before I left on vacation. I was the only one with a three-ring binder and pen in my hand at the beach. You also let me pick a favorite head shot from like 47 choices, and you sent me tons cover designs but didn't even pick my favorite.

Beth: Whoa. I sound intense.

Joy. Totally, but we do other exciting stuff too, like pick paint colors for your writing room, talk about blog designs, and plan a book release party. You did forget to send me an invitation to the book release party, but that's alright, I got a text. You also asked to set up a book table at my husband's birthday party, and made me take your author photos. But those turned out so poorly we had to stop after five minutes and hire a real photographer. It isn't always glitz and glam, but at least you make me really good chocolate chip pancakes.

 *****

You guys, I love this book. You will too, so go get your hands on a copy.

You can enter below to win two signed copies of Lu. I'm giving away two copies to one winner so you can read one and give the other to a friend. And then you can go buy more copies here. The winner will be announced on Friday.

***This giveaway is now over.***

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There were a few verses Beth clung to during the writing of Lu. 1 Thessalonians 5:24 was one of those verse.

Click here for your free print of this verse.

And be sure to hang out with Beth on her website.

 "I wasn't much different than other girls - wading into each new day to walk the familiar streams of who we think we are and where we think we're going. But sometimes the light breaks on the surface in a new way, and we spy a shadow of the unseen that causes a break ... "

-Lu

Trying to act cool at the book release party.

But we were kinda freaking out.