Writing about your hardships and heartaches

 

You’ve had your share of heartaches. Maybe it seems you’ve had more than your share.

 

I know the feeling.

 

In the midst of our sufferings, we rarely find any good. After all, we thought those things might kill us, or at least leave us permanently scarred.

 

But later—ah, later—can we take another look?

 

C. S. Lewis observed that “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny. . . .”

 

Think about it:

 

What did your hardships prepare you for?

 

(And don’t for a moment think that you

are not extraordinary!)

 

Stand back and mull over—analyze—

the pain and sorrow you’ve experienced.

 

Is it possible they served a good purpose?

 

You’ll find added inspiration from Frederick Buechner in his Wishful Thinking:

 

“The grace of God means something like:

‘Here is your life.

You might never have been, but you are,

because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.

 

Here is the world.

Beautiful and terrible things will happen.

Don’t be afraid.

I am with you.’”

 

In your memoir, tell readers how God brought beauty from ashes, joy from mourning, and praise in place of despair (see Isaiah 61:3).

 

Write those stories as an act of worship.

God will use your experiences, your words,

and your message to bring hope to others.

Believe it!

 

Find healing through the process of writing your memoir

 

If you’re just starting to write your memoir, I have important advice for you.

 

Don’t do what a friend of mine did. When he began his memoir, he started by writing about the most traumatic year of his life. Whoa!

 

I’ve seen other people begin by writing super-painful stuff, too, only to become overwhelmed all over again with the devastation—and soon they gave up writing altogether. Don’t let that happen to you!

 

Please hear this: Begin your memoir by writing your easy stories—the happy stories, the funny incidents, the fascinating experiences. That way you can ease your way into both writing and the reflecting that memoir is.

 

My heart wants you to fall in love with

remembering

and pondering

and discovering all the good stuff you didn’t recognize in the past,

and with making sense of what used to mystify you,

and with writing

            and choosing just the right words

                        to fashion your story as a gift for others to read.

 

Keep in mind that you don’t need to write your chapters/vignettes in the same order they will appear in your finished memoir. Write them in any order that’s easiest for you. Later you can organize them in the best way.

 

For now, give yourself permission to start with easy stories. Tackle your hard stories later.

 

Also, keep this in mind: Even if you’re not physically putting your painful story into words (with pen and ink or on a computer screen), you are working on the story. I can’t explain how that works but, behind the scenes, your heart and brain are working on how to write your troubling story. 

 

So, let your heartache marinate for a few more weeks or months. One day you’ll be vacuuming the car, or playing catch with your grandson, or folding laundry when out of the blue, your heart and brain will speak to you (or maybe it’ll be God who speaks to you—I’d like to think it’s Him), and that voice will offer insights into your hurtful experience. Listen, and jot down notes to yourself: You’ll be mining treasures. Later you can use those notes to compose your difficult story’s rough draft. 

Remember this, too: Your rough draft is for your eyes only.  Write it all—the seared, charred, blistered parts, the questions you never had the courage to ask aloud, the doubts you never admitted before, the anger you kept bottled up.

Work out the pain—

work through the pain—

by writing with God beside you.

Wrestle with God

and with yourself

as you write.

Go ahead and cry.

Why?

Because God can bring healing

through the process of writing.

 

And be gentle with yourself, extend grace to yourself: Reliving those emotions and writing those scenes and conversations can be overwhelming.

 

I know of no anguish-free way to get through that writing process, but I can encourage you with this:

 

Write your story as a prayer to God

and He can use the process of writing

to help you make sense of events that

knocked the air out of you,

left you broken,

confused,

weary,

hopeless—

maybe even paralyzed—

and He can help you work through your grief.

 

If you’ll give it the needed time and if you’ll peel back enough layers and dig deep enough, writing your stories can lead to new insights, to answers that too long evaded you, and to resolution—to getting un-stuck so you can move on to healing and forgiveness and peace and hope for the future. Writing your story changes you.  

If you stick with it, at some point you'll find the most profound, redeeming part of writing your story:

• You'll discover that God was beside you all the while, bringing you people and opportunities and Bible verses and Bible studies and sermons, and working out His good plans—many details you probably didn't recognize in the midst of the incident, or saw only dimly, and
• you'll also discern how far you've come, how much you've healed.
• That, in turn, makes you overflow with gratitude toward God,
• and that solidifies your relationship with Him.

Mick Silva says it this way: “I’ve discovered that . . . protecting and preserving our stories is about discovering God’s story.” I call that your “God-and-you story.”

 

In that way, writing a memoir can be a journey of personal healing—even if you originally set out to write it for others.

 

And this is important: At some point, you’ll revise your manuscript. Your first draft, that for-your-eyes-only draft, will remain what it is. But use that rough material to craft a rewrite of your memoir for others to read.

 

Let God transform you through writing that painful first draft, and afterward, your God-and-you story can help others heal.

 

P. S. Did you read Tuesday’s post about Kathy Pooler’s experience writing her memoir? If you missed it, click on “Unveiling painful truths and moving to the other side of pain.” Since most memoirists must write about something painful, you don’t want to miss Kathy’s wisdom and encouragement.

 

 

When you didn’t even know God was there: Discovering His fingerprints

 

As you compose your memoir, take special note of what God was doing—even if at the time, His role was under the radar.

 

Maybe what you thought was a mere coincidence was much more—it was God Himself intervening.

 

Lloyd Ogilvie writes about the parable of the Good Samaritan and the phrase “now by chance” in Luke 10:31-35:

 

“Now by chance a priest was going down the road,” as was a Levite after him, and a Samaritan after him.

 

Ogilvie writes:

 

“The Greek word translated by the word ‘chance’

means ‘coincidence.’

But not even that word gets at the core of the meaning

of the Greek word. . . .

It means a confluence of circumstances

which seem to happen by chance

but are really events interwoven

by divine providence

for the accomplishment of a greater purpose.”

(Silent Strength for My Life)

 

Read that again.

 

In writing your memoir, look for occasions when something seemed to happen by chance or seemed coincidental. Ask yourself: Were they, in reality, “events interwoven by divine providence”—by God’s foresight and guidance and plan?

 

Give yourself plenty of time to search for answers.

 

Remember what makes memoir so rich, so special. A memoir goes beyond writing about what happened.

 

It involves discovering the significance of what happened

and what you did about it or with it.

 

Reflection is a key ingredient in writing a memoir. Most people need to work on reflecting because, as Richard Foster observes, “The sad truth is that many authors simply have never learned to reflect substantively on anything.”

 

The remedy?

 

To reflect in a meaningful, deliberate way.

 

Take a closer look at the incidents in your life, your decisions, your relationships:

 

• Consider
• Ponder
• Contemplate
• Deliberate
• Ruminate
• Cogitate
• Wonder
• Mull over
• Chew on
• Wonder about
• Think about
• Weigh
• And study

 

• Look back
• Peel away layers
• Excavate
• Find the gems.
• Dig them out in pieces if you must, but dig them out.
• Inspect them. Look for God’s fingerprints.

 

Spend as much time as you need to make sense of what you discover—to pinpoint those aspects of your life that were indeed not just coincidence, not just something that happened by chance, but were in fact the work of God.

 

This week search for any of God’s fingerprints you might have overlooked in the past. Put in writing how your life changed as a result. How did God use the event to prepare you for the future? Deepen your faith?

 

Think about what Jacob said in Genesis 28:16,

 

“God was in this place and I wasn’t even aware of it.”

When has that happened in your life?

 

Uncover the richer, higher, deeper, wider, broader story,

the story of what God was doing.

 

Discovering that will change your heart and life

in ways you can’t imagine!

 

Don’t miss the significance of everyday people and events

 

Often we memoirists think we should focus on the big incident, the momentous scene, the shocking episode—and they are important—but look for the treasures, perhaps hidden right now—within the everyday events and individuals in your past. They could hold more importance than you realize.

Oswald Chambers said, "We look for visions from heaven and for earth-shaking events to see God's power. Yet we never realize that all the time God is at work in our everyday events and in the people around us."

 

In writing your memoir, be deliberate: Make time to relive your experiences. Reflect. Explore and examine the ways God was at work in your everyday activities and the people who surrounded you.

 

What was He doing?

What was He working out?

 

How did those events and people transform your life’s direction?

 

How did they change the end of your story?

 

  

And there you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Happy writing!

 

Tuesday Tidbit: Your memoir’s takeaways can change lives

 

Where do you put takeaways in your memoir? (If you missed last week’s post on what takeaways are, click on Your memoir’s all-important takeaways.) 

 

“Takeaway happens within a reflection,” point out Brooke Warner and Dr. Linda Joy Myers. (To read more about the importance of reflection in memoir, click on Reflection and the words we use.)

 

“Takeaway can be a reflection, but not all reflection is takeaway,” they continue. “… [W]herever there is reflection, there is an opportunity for a takeaway, but that doesn’t mean that necessarily all reflections are going to be takeaways.”

 

In other words, takeaways accompany segments in your memoir in which you reflect. You will reflect multiple times throughout your memoir. Some if not all of them will be opportunities for you to include a takeaway for your readers—those bits of wisdom to live by.

And don’t beat around the bush! Pinpoint your message. Clarity is your goal. (Please, please, read my blog post about writers who circle all around The Point but never state The Point. Click on What’s the point?)

 

Dedicate quality time to crafting your takeaways. Specify what was the most important message or lesson you took away from that experience (the one you’re reflecting on). Boil it down, write a concise message for your readers.

 

Here are examples of takeaways:

“Life is composed of cycles and seasons. Nothing lasts forever.” Dr. Henry Cloud

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'" (Mary Anne  Radmacher) 

“We find by losing. We hold fast by letting go. We become something new by ceasing to be something old.” (Frederick Buechner)  

 

In this example from Steve Pemberton’s A Chance in the World, I’ve underlined the takeaway: “Looking back, this was a galvanizing moment. The Robinsons had taken away any semblance of my childhood, something I could never get back. But now this new edict, vile and ignorant, threatened my future. At some point in our lives, we all have to make a decision to take a stand, knowing full well the potential harmful consequences. For me that decision came in the fall of 1982, at the age of fifteen.”

 

Most memoirists place takeaways throughout their memoirs. If you have a conclusion, a postscript, or an epilogue in your memoir, reiterate your most important takeaways in them, too.

 

Your takeaways are the most powerful part of your memoir.

They offer readers hope,

or wisdom, or courage, or laughter,

or a solution, or a new way of living or loving.

 

Your takeaways, then, communicate to readers:

“I know this is true because I have experienced it,

I have lived it. It changed my life.

Perhaps it will change your life, too.”

 

 

At first your takeaways will resemble diamonds-in-the-rough. Your job is to cut and polish and make those gems sparkle. Doing so adds to their value for both you and your readers.

 

There you have it: Your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Tuesday Tidbit: Your memoir’s all-important takeaways

 

People will read your memoir for its takeaways.

 

What’s a takeaway?

 

It’s a gem you unearthed during all your remembering and reflecting that’s so important in writing a memoir. (Be sure to read our earlier post, “Dig out the gems, in pieces if you must.”)

 

In examining what you unearthed, and in re-evaluating it, you gained clarity and wisdom, and that helped make sense of your life—which you offer to your readers.

 

Takeaways are what readers “take away” from your memoir. A takeaway is a meaningful sentence or two that speaks to something deep inside the reader.

 

He recognizes himself in your story. When he stumbles upon your takeaway, he will pause to think, to re-read the words, slowly. He might underline the passage. Or maybe highlight it. Or write notes in the margin. Your memoir’s takeaway offers him lessons he will carry with them after he’s read the last page and closed the back cover.

How do you, the writer,

discover a takeaway in your life’s story?

 

Think back. At some point,

you had an A-ha moment, and a light came on.

Puzzle pieces began falling into place.

You gained clarity.

You discovered a solution.

It was a turning point.

You were not the same person after that.

 

That’s good, that’s exciting.

Such discoveries can be defining moments for you,

life-changers—but go beyond that.

Share the benefits of that experience with your readers

by crafting a takeaway.

Offer them their own A-ha moment.

Offer them something of value.

 

In other words, in a concise way give words to the principle you learned—think of the takeaway as a precept, a saying, a guideline, an adage—something readers can live by, a principle that can be life-changing for them, too.

 

Use your takeaway to offer readers hope,

or wisdom,

or courage,

or laughter,

or a solution,

or a new way of living or loving.

 

Your takeaways, then, communicate to readers: “I know this is true because I have experienced it, I have lived it. It changed my life. Perhaps it will change your life, too.”

 

Come back next week when we’ll continue working on takeaways.

 

There you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

“Don’t get rid of the pain until you’ve learned its lessons”

 

As you reflect on the past and write your memoir, you’ll need to examine painful experiences.

 

Even “happy” memoirs

will include an element of sadness

or displeasure or ache.

 

That’s because even the happiest lives include

challenges, disappointments, and obstacles.

 

Life includes an unwelcome surprise or two.

Heartaches, too.

 

And some lives include terrible suffering.

 

Writing about painful happenings can be agonizing because it requires you to relive the experience.

 

From a spiritual angle, we’re often tempted to question God, asking Him “Why?”  

 

Why would He make me wait so long for relief from a desperate situation?

 

Why does He allow my children or parents or spouse to suffer?

 

Why does God seem so distant and uninvolved in my life?

 

Why doesn’t God love me enough to do something?

 

Why did He allow a loved one to die?

 

But writing can also bring healing if,

in the process of writing,

you look at the hurtful incident carefully, dissect it,

and try to make sense of it

in ways you might not have in the past.

 

Jenn Soehnlin offers good advice in her article, “When you find yourself asking God ‘Why?’”

 

For a long time, Jenn had been asking God “Why?”  But, she writes, “One day . . . God was telling me I was asking the wrong question.

 

“What other question is there? I wondered.”

 

Jenn continues, “I didn’t get an answer right away, but when it came, it shifted my perspective.

 

“The question to ask was not “why?” but “what?” with a heart to learn God’s heart.

 

“For example, ‘What do You want me to learn from this . . . ? What good do You want to come from this?”

 

She continues, “By asking ‘what?’ instead of ‘why?’ it puts God back on His throne.

 

“Asking ‘what?’ suggests humility, trusting God.

 

“Asking ‘why?’ suggests a hostility toward God’s character, that He isn’t really good or cannot really be trusted, or a belief that we know better than the Creator Himself.

 

“It requires . . . an intentional decision to trust that God is teaching us something,” Jenn says, “and that it is for our ultimate good and the good of others around us, that we can impact others with what we’ve been learning.”

 

Did you catch that last bit? It could be that God has allowed painful things to happen for your ultimate good (such as spiritual growth and personal maturity—such as knowing God better and loving Him more), and for the good of other people—through your memoir.

 

Jenn writes, “It makes hard times a little easier to bear, knowing that there is something to learn—and one day, to teach and encourage others from what we learned during our hard circumstances.”

 

Jenn’s words are so wise, so good.

That’s why I always link writing memoirs

to 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: “The God of all comfort . . .  

comforts us in all our troubles, so that

we can comfort those in any trouble

with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

 

Reflection is such an important aspect of writing a memoir—and such an important aspect of loving and serving God. Many times in Scriptures, God tells us to remember what He did in the past for us and our loved ones.

 

Reflection: A time for re-evaluating assumptions we made in the past, for taking a fresh look at conclusions we came to in the past. A time for asking God “what?” instead of “why?”

 

“Don’t get rid of the pain

until you’ve learned its lessons.

When you hold the pain consciously and trust fully,

you are in a very liminal space.

This is a great teaching moment

where you have the possibility of breaking through

to a deeper level of faith and consciousness.

Hold the pain of being human

until God transforms you through it.

And then you will be

an instrument of transformation for others.”

(Richard Rohr, adapted from

The Authority of Those Who Have Suffered)

 

 

 

Refuse to take the lazy route

 

Chuck Swindoll writes about “people who go through life with their eyes closed. They look but don’t really ‘see’ . . . they observe the surface but omit the underneath . . . they focus on images but not issues . . . vision is present but perception is absent. . . .

 

“Remove insight,” Chuck continues, “and you suddenly reduce life to existence with frequent flashes of boredom and indifference. . . . Please understand, I do not mean to be critical of those who cannot go deeper . . . but of those who can but will not.”

 

Chuck concludes: “Open your eyes! Think! Apply! Dig! Listen!” (Charles R. Swindoll, Growing Strong in the Seasons of Life)

 

Chuck’s message is perfect for those who write memoirs.

 

Many a time you’ve heard me emphasize the importance of introspection and reflection when it comes to writing a memoir. Of digging deeply.

 

But it’s hard work to make time for all that contemplating and assessing.

 

And all too often we’re in a hurry to get our stories in print.

 

However, I urge you to do what Chuck says: “Open your eyes! Think! Apply! Dig! Listen!” so that you can write multi-layered stories based on not only what happened, but what it all means—what you learned and where it all led.

 

What do you recognize now that you overlooked in the past?

What do you know now that you didn’t know before?

 

And this is so important: What was God doing?

 

What new places did God take you—

emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually?

In hindsight, what new opportunities did He give you?

What lessons did He teach you?

How is your relationship with Him different now?

 

Sit quietly with your story and imagine God sitting there beside you. He’s eager to help you dissect your past and make sense of it.

 

Listen for what He might tell you. Watch for what He might show you.

 

Often He surprises us with what He helps us piece together. What new person are you now as a result of your past experiences and your examination of them?

 

If you want to uncover the profound parts of your story,

you need to invest in reflection and introspection.

Go deep. Refuse to stay in the shallow end.

 

“Oftentimes insight into what all has transpired comes later and in layers,” writes Beth Moore. “One of the many gifts of aging in a walk with God is that you can look over your shoulder and see that some pieces of the puzzle really did end up fitting. Yep,” she says, “this makes sense. Surely didn’t at the time.”

 

As a memoirist, then, your job is to recollect, reminisce, identify, contemplate, review. And snap puzzle pieces together.

 

Beth Barthelemy asks herself, 

and we memoirists would do well to ask ourselves: 

“Am I willing to sit in silence—

highly uncomfortable for those of us who are new to it—

in order to hear the voice of God?”

 

When you follow God’s breadcrumb trail and listen for “a deeper sound”

 

When we start writing, we have no idea where our memories and ponderings will take us. 

 

The process of crafting a memoir changes the way we hear.

 

It opens our eyes.

 

It helps us discover a higher, deeper, broader story.

 

And the process of writing changes our hearts.

 

“The written word

preserves what otherwise might be lost

among the impressions that inundate our lives.

Thoughts, insights, and perceptions

constantly threaten to leave us

before we have the opportunity

to grasp their meaning.

Writing can keep technology-driven, fast-paced,

quick-fix, ambiguity-intolerant modern life

from overpowering us—

and give us something palpable upon which to reflect.

 

Reflection slows matters down.

It analyzes what was previously unexamined,

and opens doors to different interpretations

of what was there all along.

Writing, by encouraging reflection,

intensifies life.”

 

(Editors Ben Jacobs and Helena Hjalmarsson,

The Quotable Book Lover)

 

Think back to a time when the unexpected happened, something scary or challenging or disappointing. Or maybe it was downright tragic—heartbreaking, life-changing.

 

One time—only one time, I’m sad to say—when something devastating happened, almost immediately Romans 8:28 came to mind: “And we know that all that happens to us is working for our good if we love God and are fitting into His plans” (The Living Bible).

 

I told myself that ultimately I’d recognize the good God could bring from the tragedy. I told myself to watch God work. I couldn’t imagine what those blessings might be—those lessons, insights, and opportunities to mature, gain wisdom, and grow in faith—so I waited and watched. And sure enough, He did bring beauty from ashes.

 

I wish that every time hardship blindsided me, I’d have watched for the goodness He worked, but I admit I rarely have.

 

Maybe you’ve had the same experience.

 

Not all is lost at such times, though, if we think back and search for those good things God brought. They’re just waiting for us to recognize them.

 

But too often I’ve forgotten to go back and look for the gems He unearthed from my dirt. I feel bad about that.

 

Mike Metzger’s quote has come to mind frequently in the years since I ran across it:

 

“Many churches have forgotten the premium

that the historic Judeo-Christian tradition placed on

remembrance…and recalling the right things.

The ‘great sin’ of the Old Testament was forgetfulness

(at least it is the most recurrent offense).

‘Remember’ is the most frequent command

in the Old Testament.” 

(Clapham Memo, January 19, 2007,

“Back and Forth,” by Mike Metzger; emphasis mine)

 

Because of Mike’s quote, in recent years I’ve made an effort to remember what God has done for me and my family. Doing so requires me to make time to search my memories.

 

By definition, writing a memoir requires us to go back, to uncover—to excavate, unearth, dig, till the soil and sift through it—looking for diamonds and emeralds.

 

In the process, we might need to stand to the side and take a different look: We need to do a “Doggie Head Tilt,” another Mike Metzger quote. He says, “If your head never tilts, your mind never changes.”

 

So, we tilt our heads and

look at that difficulty from another angle.

We rethink what happened, we reevaluate,

and maybe arrive at a different conclusion

than we had come to before.

 

In Psalm 86:17, David prays, “Give me a sign of your goodness.”

That’s what we memoirists are looking for:

Signs of God’s goodness.

Souvenirs, if you will, for us to keep and cherish.

Symbols, proofs of His goodness.

Evidence. Confirmations.

When God comforts us with them, they become gems

for us to share with others.

 

So we find those treasures, those signs of goodness, and we piece them together, like stringing jewels to make a necklace. While we do so, we examine them, we ponder and reflect on them.

 

We ask ourselves:

• What was God doing?
• What lessons was He teaching me?
• What new insights do I now have?
• How did He change my heart?
• How has my life changed as a result?
• What message did He give me to share with others?

 

Yes, indeed, when we start composing a memoir, we have no idea where our memories and ponderings and writings will take us. 

 

The process of writing opens our eyes and changes our hearts. It helps us discover a higher, deeper, broader story.

 

Our job as memoirists

is to set aside time, as long as it takes,

to follow the breadcrumb trail

God has left for us to help us find our way.

 

And then we share our findings with others

who need help navigating their way.

 

In that way,

penning a memoir can be a sacred journey,

even an act of worship.

 

Discover the blessings God has handed you

in the midst of your hard times,

and then write your memoir,

knowing others need the hope

and wisdom and blessings you have to offer.