As I prepped a class this week, I pulled out my copy of Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. I love looking back through books that have changed and challenged me and seeing what I may have marked or underlined. In this one, I found a paragraph I had drawn three blue lines around – above it, below it, and down the left-hand margin – to block it off as important to me. What did I see in this paragraph, among the many paragraphs in this classic book for writers? What life did it speak to me?

Read it yourself first.

Sometimes people turn out to be not all that funny or articulate, but they can still be great friends or narrators if they possess a certain clarity of vision — especially if they have survived or are in the process of surviving a gret deal. This is inherently interesting material, since this is the task before all of us: sometimes we have to have one hand on this rock here, one hand on that one, and each big toe seeking out firm if temporary footing, and while we’re scaling that rock face, there’s no time for bubbles, champagne, and a witty aside. You don’t mind that people in this situation are not being charming. You are glad to see them doing something you will need to do down the line, and with dignity. The challenge and the dignity make it interesting enough.

What do you think?

I think I must have been losing hope by this point in the book. Lamott is an amazing writer – so funny and natural. I wonder if by this point I was frustrated with my own lack of style. Maybe you never do this, but sometimes when I read something great I think, Well, with amazing stuff like this out there why would anyone want to read my too-long, too-boring pieces?

(You never do that, right, because you are full of confidence. I know. But just in case, take a peek at this quotation from Ira Glass; it should boost your self-esteem a little.)

This paragraph by Lamott gave me permission to write my story even if I wasn’t funny. Even if I wasn’t brilliant. I knew I had survived. I knew I had survived with dignity. And so have you. You’ve survived something. Lamott’s words promise that survival could be enough to keep someone reading who needs to see your win, even if it wasn’t pretty.

So we write. Or tell. Or sing. Or paint. Or dance. But the stories are told. The footings in the rocks of trial and tragedy are pointed out and found. This is how we help each other through.

I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.

You’ll remember that I took a blogging break in September. I’m generally pleased with the preliminary results of that break. I felt very good about my performance on the GRE, even after the four hours I spent taking it in a cell-like computer testing room. I won’t have actual results for awhile, and I’m way to prideful humble to share my score even when I do, but I’d say my effort was rewarded.

And football? Yeah, that is going very well. I’m ridiculously proud of Jesse. On Saturday he scored two touchdowns. Granted, this was only after the other team finally put in their smaller boys in the 4th quarter when we were already down 50-0, but it was still thrilling. I’ve been especially proud of how he’s handled trying out for different positions (there aren’t hundreds of other players or anything, but he wanted to be the kicker and he is the kicker) and learning to not emotionally melt at the first sign of conflict (no one would ever describe Jesse as having thick skin). He’s enjoyed his “man practice,” as my mom described it, and it’s been my joy to observe.

But as important and as wonderful as all of that has been, I’ve missed this. When STORY was over, I was gently pressured by my friend Brad to blog about my experience, so I broke my September silence with a September Interlude. I can’t thank Brad enough for the nudge, because the second I hit “Publish” on that post I felt better. Honestly, I almost felt physically better.

This afternoon I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a letter to our World Vision child. I told him about how much we like American football. I told him we sing and pray almost every night, and now he is added to those prayers. I told him I hoped he was happy and well. (I didn’t tell him that I wished I could see the headmen and chiefs his mother mentioned and decide for myself if they were really taking good care of his village. Learning what NOT to communicate is important, too.) I sealed the envelope with the same accomplished feeling I have after clicking to publish this blog. I guess it’s just how I’m made.

And It’s so good to let you know!

I know, it’s still September, but I wanted to break the silence for just a bit and tell you about the fun we had at the STORY Conference in Chicago last week. I’m going to do it by showing you one of my favorite photos from the event.

This one was taken on the second morning of STORY. (I love the second morning for some reason.) I had talked Serenity into volunteering with me on the Greeters Team – a great gig which basically involves free t-shirts and lots of smiling. When asked why I volunteer at an event I paid to attend, I always answer in basically the same way, “I’m the type of person who needs to know where things are and how things work so I can help people when they need it. I might as well do it in an official capacity.” Seren was glad I made her do it, especially after one morning session when our team leader, Luke, called her over to stand beside him just in time for Sean Astin to brush past her elbow. Like I said, it’s a good gig.

Beside me in the photo is Sarah Cunningham. She is the girl in the know for all things STORY and she is a dream to work with. If you have interest in joining the team at all, drop her a line at sarah[at]storychicago[dot]com. This is one of the best parts of STORY: the relationships. Sometimes it seems like we look forward to the lunches with new friends (thanks John, Guy, and Joy!) or unexpected conversations in the hallways (can’t wait to talk more, Stephen!) as much as we do the speakers from the stage. We are the kind of people who get each other, and it helps to hang out in one place for a few days. Read Seren’s take on that here.

And speaking of the speakers. Wow. We started out with Ed Dobson (see previews of his short film series here) and ended with Ian Cron (see some video of him speaking here) and everything in between was pure brilliance. A highlight was, as we all expected, Sean Astin, especially because he came across as so genuine and made us feel like we’re only one good role or script or recording away from being in his shoes. He didn’t take himself too seriously, but he also recognized the privilege of being part of great storytelling. Sometimes the person whose name really draws people to an event turns out to be a bit of a dud. Not in this case. Astin delivered on every count. He was definitely the best part. Although Cron spoke an Episcopalian blessing over us to close the conference and that was pretty intense as well. And Kyle Cooper opened his talk with the entire prologue from Henry VIII . . .  So maybe picking a best part it too difficult.

Back to the photo. See the orange/burgundy strap of my new Nolan Bag? This is a handmade messenger-style tote that every attendee was given, and each one was an original. Nolan himself (well, I’m not sure that’s his name, but he’s a real 18 year-old guy with a big dream) was there in lobby (right behind where we’re standing, actually) on a sewing machine churning out new designs! This boutique feel is what you get at STORY. Famous author Ted Dekker spoke in the Art Gallery during one break and took questions from us as if we were sitting in his living room. Stuff like that happens at STORY.

Oh, and one more thing. There is no sign of it in the photo, but STORY announced a new and exciting project this year. Ben Arment and his team have a dream to make a feature length film about the story of David and Goliath. Their growing team includes the Dot&Cross group that produced Rob Bell’s popular Nooma video series. Quality work. One thing I can promise you from this team is a quality product. This film will be well executed; you won’t be embarrassed to show it to your friends. In fact, we’re banking on the fact that you WILL want to show it to your friends. STORY is pursuing a whole new approach to funding and asking the Church to help by pre-purchasing a premiere of the movie over the weekend of October 12-14, 2012. You can host in your own living room or host a huge screening at your church or other public venue. Check out the website and consider getting behind the dream. It isn’t conventional. It won’t be easy. But, as I recently read from Andy Crouch, “it is better to create something worth criticizing than to criticize and create nothing.”

If any of this appeals to you, check out the pre-registration page for next year. See you in Chicago in September 2012!

P. S. The coffee cup? That might have been actually been my favorite part. Dan makes a mad cup of french press coffee. Since he booked us in a condo for the weekend, we were able to share the space with 6 of our friends and family members for a much lower price than a hotel. It also had way more charm and meant we could make our own coffee each morning and well as decompress each evening in the quiet and style of a Chicago flat. My husband is awesome.

It’s going to be a busy one. But what month isn’t these days?

Still, I have a few specific things that I need to focus on this month so I probably won’t post here much.

Want to think of me and direct your thoughts as prayers?

• I’m taking the GRE (a standardized test for college graduates) this month for upcoming graduate school applications. I’ve heard you should study for this one.
• I’m attending STORY, as usual. I’m looking forward to the creative experience as well as some free time in Chicago.
• I’m watching my son play 5th/6th grade football. I love football. I love my son. I’m wondering how much I’m going to love my son loving football? Probably a lot.

I guess that should do it for now.

Feel free to fill the comments with your best study tips, but please refrain from leaving stories about how someone you know broke all his precious bones in a Pop Warner football game. Anything else is fine.

P.S. Also take a second to click on the World Vision button over there –>. There’s a famine going on in Africa, but there’s enough food in our world to go around. Consider sending some help.

We sang this one yesterday. Much like my Sandi Patty experience with “We Shall Behold Him,” this one reminds me of the reality we’re longing for.

I have unexplained cravings and longings in this life. Most of us do. When we’re single we think getting married will fulfill the longing. But then we think maybe a baby will do it. Then, maybe if we could just get these kids grown and out of the house! We’re always looking for more. It’s the feeling that what we’re experiencing is not all there is. There must be more.

Marilyn Meberg says this is actually our longing for God that won’t be fulfilled until we are with Him in eternity. And that can sound lame or too easy unless you’ve tasted a bit of it when someone sings a song or you read a verse in the Bible or a friend speaks just the right word of encouragement. Once in a while we feel satisfied. That’s a taste of Heaven. It goes away quickly, but you can’t forget how good it tasted even if it only lasted a moment.

I know this is true when I hear and sing songs like this one from Brooke Fraser. It reminds me of a good time I haven’t even had yet but one that will define me forever. I can’t explain it, of course, but it feels like relief. It feels like truth, and so I sing it strong and will it to memory. Because I never want to forget . . .

You’ve heard the one about the ugly duckling, right? Only he wasn’t an ugly duckling at all; he was a swan. It was just that no one knew that until he went through puberty and sprouted bright white feathers. Oh, and when he finally found other birds who looked like him. There’s a lot a person could learn from a story like that.

But when considering a follow-up to the you were Made To Do This post, I couldn’t help but think of a slightly different swan analogy.

This one I’ve seen for myself.

Everyday I drive by a lake that is home to more than one pair of mated-for-life swans. And they are beautiful. Even when they sleep, they gingerly toss their long slender necks onto the top of their fluffy backsides and turn themselves into a floating nap. I try to imagine their black webbed feet paddling furiously underneath the water, but on the surface the motion is calm and efficient. Smooth. Graceful.

A swan gliding across a lake is what you look like when you are doing what you were made to do. It looks effortless and natural.

But have you ever seen a swan walk on land?

It isn’t pretty or graceful. In fact, it is kind of awkward. Tiny feet and short legs compared to those substantial bodies and long necks? It just seems out of proportion.

But you don’t notice the awkward when the swan is in the water, doing what swans do best. You only notice it when the swan is on land, outside of her usual occupations.

This is why I think it’s important to spend time considering what you were made to do. When you do that thing (or things, depending on the seasons), then it looks right. It fits. You are covered with grace. When you step out of those waters, though, walking in a land that might be someone else’s gifiting, you are likely to look and feel a little out of place.

I don’t mean to imply that we don’t sometimes have to do things that are new to us or ocassionally fill positions that don’t seem to put us at our best. Those seasons happen also. But I think those seasons should be fewer and farther between as we mature and figure ourselves out a bit.

Afterall, everyone wants to see the swans swimming; few people care about seeing the swans walking.

You are a swan. Swim.