“What goes in must come out.”

That adage is something I always heard growing up, especially from my parents when I would read R.L. Stine books as a kid.

And they were right.

When I was ten years old, I wrote my first “book,” which was about 80 pages long in a spiral bound notebook.

It was about a girl who, after a basketball game, went to a convenience store and drank a sports drink that was poisoned. In order for her to not be harmed by the poison, she had to give it to other people, poisoning them.

She started by poisoning her younger brother.

Somehow, one of my parents must have found my “book” and out of concern for my younger brother’s life, quietly removed it from our wholesome Christian home.

And I started therapy.

I really didn’t start therapy then, but I’ve always remembered that the things I soak my remaining brain cells in will show in other areas of my life.

A few weeks ago, I shared that I would have an opportunity to thank a former teacher in my life for the influence he had. I didn’t mention this in the earlier post, but he’s one of three people I dedicated Permission to Speak Freely to, as he taught me how to write from my heart.

He’s now a brilliant teacher at a prestigious academy in Pennsylvania, and last Monday, I got to spend some time with him (see, here’s a picture of us), hanging out in his English classes and clearing cobwebs that have been forming in my head since I was a junior in High School.

Most of us have read some of the “classics” in our high school or college days. Melville. Twain. Hemmingway. Homer. Salinger. (Etc., Etc., Etc.)

If you’re anything like I am, I left those books behind with my prom dress.

After spending time in Mr. Bennett’s classes, listening to sixteen year olds discuss the greatest line in American literature (“All right then, I’ll go to hell” – Huck Finn) I began thinking, “These kids understand classic literature more than I do,” and as the visiting “professional” author, felt entirely like a poser.

“Have you read this?”

“Ummm…once in seventh grade.”

“Do you remember the line about…”

“Never read that one.”

“Last year, when you guys read…”

“Crap.”

In the midst of jokes about Hemmingway and my feelings of inadequacy, I made a decision.

If I want to write timeless content, I should probably read timeless content.

Because what goes in must come out.

Before I wrote Mad Church Disease, I had spent my “ministry” years reading “ministry” books and lo and behold, produced a “ministry” book of my very own.

With Permission to Speak Freely, I had ventured more into memoirs, essay collections, poetry, and spiritually contemplative books and I think it’s fair to say the tone of PTSF reflects that.

The goal of any writer is to become a better version of themselves (and not give into the temptation to be the next Anne Lamott, Donald Miller, David Sedaris, or Elizabeth Gilbert).

As writers, we should hone in to cultivate our own voice and make it the best it can be.

That only happens with time.

What can we do with our time to develop ourselves into timeless writers?

We have to nurture our creative spirits, and that looks different for each of us. But within that universal pursuit, find authors who have proven themselves as staples, not trends, that speak to you. Find poets who connect with your soul on a level brief metaphors can speak to. Find music that causes your mind to journey into abstract places. Find places in nature where time stops and the colors, the smells, and the sounds pour into you, because you are a piece of nature yourself.

And write…

Workshops are good (I guess, I’ve never actually been to a writing workshop), and how-to books can be beneficial. I own my fair share of them.

But remember, practicality is rarely a pathway to creating art.

Most art isn’t practical.

If it was, it probably wouldn’t move us in the way that art often does.

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I heard somewhere once that during Billy Graham’s crusades, after he finishes his message, he returns to a chair and closes his eyes and prays. From what I understand, he doesn’t want to see how many people were (or were not) coming forward, and just wanted to pray for the change that was happening.

Granted, I’ve never been to a Billy Graham crusade and I am probably a terrible Christian for even admitting I don’t know that much about them to validate if this actually happens or not.

However, as I’ve had the opportunity to speak at several churches in a variety of services, I’ve noticed how easy it is to get caught up in how people are responding and thinking it has something to do with me.

(Case and point: My Encounter with Church Sleeping Man).

Recently I spoke at a college and young adult service about the freedom that comes with confession; the healing that takes place when we share our brokenness with others (James 5) and at the end, I turned the service over to the pastors and leaders at this church to pray with anyone that needed it.

I walked off the stage, sat in a chair, and buried my head in my hands praying for the people at the service while trying to overcome the temptation to look around.

I assumed that since I was a guest speaker, the people at the service would feel more comfortable praying with the pastors they knew, but a few moments after sitting down, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I sat up, expecting to see a staff member or maybe someone to take my mic but instead was met by the tear-stained face of a beautiful young woman.

Instantly, I leaned over to hold her for a moment and her body began heaving in my arms as she wept. Her tears rolled off her face and landed on my jeans, one by one. I could feel them as they drenched the denim and melted onto my skin.

Pulling back from her, I asked her what her name was and if there was something I could pray for her. Given the story I shared from stage, about the addiction I faced when I was in my teens and twenties, I assumed she needed to confess something about that.

But what came out of her mouth surprised me.

“I just don’t feel like I’ll ever be good enough.”

I had to catch my breath just a little.

I’ve been healthy enough for a few years to talk about addiction but the feeling of insecurity and worthlessness is a chain of mine that I wonder will ever break.

Inhaling deeply, I leaned back in, silently begging for words of truth. Scriptures I don’t even know by memory began to flow out of my mouth and my heart. I felt as if I were praying them not just for her – but for me.

When I confessed the lies she said were in her head (Not good enough, not worthy enough, will never be enough) I discovered I was confessing them for me as well.

The passage in James says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed.”

Interesting.

I was supposed to be there to help other people confess…to help other people take a step into freedom.

It just goes to show how powerful confession is.

Here I was with a complete stranger, and we were both confessing, praying, and were beginning a path of truth together.

Together, whole and healed.

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Sorry it’s been quiet here lately.

Really quiet.

The manuscript for Permission to Speak Freely is due in a couple of weeks, and I’m traveling to six cities (from San Diego to NYC and everything in between) and speaking while trying to finish writing the book…so…it’s been a bit hectic, but wonderful and stretching at the same time. I am looking forward to some much needed down time over the holidays!

Last night I spoke at The Walk, which is the college & young adults ministry at Sevier Heights Baptist Church in Knoxville, TN. It was an honor to hang out with these students (have I told you lately how much I love college students? It’s a lot.) and share with them a bit about what God has shown me during my trips to Uganda and India and what the Bible says is our responsibility for caring for the poor as an act of worship and transformation.

Something very cool they did to launch the series last night (It’s called A Message that Sticks), was make a mural out of post-it notes. This mural has around 30,000 post-its on it (each post-it representing one of the 30,000 children that die daily from starvation), and the little boy is named Moises and he lives in Haiti.

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I never knew that so many random, seemingly trivial things could be put together to make something so beautiful.

Or, wait.

Maybe I did.

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I just woke up an hour ago.

Flooded in my “@” column in Twitter were tweets about an article TIME magazine released about sex offenders attending church, and in some cases, being arrested for it.

No doubt this question is a highly sensitive one, and one most people in churches don’t exactly want to bring up and discuss. Given the topic of my new book Permission to Speak Freely, a few people connected the article to the book.

Interestingly enough, as I share my own story in Permission to Speak Freely, I talk a bit about a time in my life when I was sexually violated by a pastor when I was sixteen years old. So this is a question I have wrestled with for a long, long time.

On one hand, I can logically comprehend how most sex offenders operate. Sometimes, they’re genetically predisposed to their addiction and preying on children (or even adults). However, I’ve also met people who have been legally labeled as sex offenders, who just got caught up in a bad mistake – maybe a guy was 18 and he had sex with his 17 year old girlfriend and she wasn’t old enough to legally consent so her parents pressed charges. There are also people who have committed terrible offenses in their past, but they have been redeemed and restored fully.

Then you throw in the “church” side of things. I couldn’t agree more with what a source in the TIME article says,

“There are serious constitutional problems in banning someone from going to church, not to mention this runs counter to the church’s mission of inclusion, hospitality and redemption.”

Jesus didn’t hang out with the religious people of his time. He spent time with those far from him. When a woman was about to be stoned for committing adultery, he covered her in protective grace which saved her life.

I remember working at a church a few years ago and they were going through their insurance policies. For some churches to get the right kind of coverage and protection from liability, they have rules in place about how and where sex offenders can attend and serve.

Personally, I know where my heart should land on the issue, but I don’t know how that actually plays out in real life scenarios. I know that the person who abused me is still serving within faith based organizations and I pray almost every day that what happened with me was his exception and not the norm. I also know he needs healing and grace and community to live a life that is whole and healed.

What do you guys think? How have you seen this topic addressed in your own communities of faith or in your own life?

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I am so excited to announce that the official site for my new book Permission to Speak Freely: Essays and Art on Fear, Confession and Grace is LIVE. Huge thanks to Brad Ruggles for his tireless work on this project. He did an amazing job with the design…it is simply beautiful!

What I love about this site is that yes, you can see some of the confessions we’ve received (and will continue to update as the project continues – remember – it is never too late to mail in a confession) but we also have FREE resources for churches or groups which include adult and student/young adult studies, leader guides, and an HD video (click the link for RSS readers) for the studies.
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Oh, if you use the free resources for your church, you can get a free copy of the book for your church.

So, I’d love it if you’d pop on over and check out the site and if you so desire, tell a friend or two.

Nifty Links:

*Follow PTSF on Twitter for exclusive sneak peeks & free stuff

*Become a Facebook Fan

*Sign up to see new confessions

*Send in a confession of your own

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