Part 2: What can you offer readers about mourning AND thanksgiving?

 

. . . . Continuing from last time: How can you write accounts in your memoir that embrace both mourning and thanksgiving?

 

For some of you, Thanksgiving brings back the pain of a heartbreak you endured in the past at this time of year.

• Every time Thanksgiving rolls around, you remember the first time you had to look at that empty seat at the Thanksgiving table. And it’s still empty this year.
• That special person’s favorite song keeps playing in your mind.
• Or Thanksgiving always reminds you of the time you miscarried . . . again.
• Or someone shot you, leaving you paralyzed from the waist down.
• Your boss fired you and you saw yourself as a total failure.
• You remember Thanksgiving as a time of enduring the unimaginable, when you were crushed in spirit, unable to shake the heaviness.

 

It was a situation you never could have predicted or would have chosen.

 

Since then, you’ve struggled

to find joy in the Thanksgiving season. . . .

 

And yet . . . . And yet . . . .

 

Now, looking back years later, you recognize that

there’s more to your story.

Something to be thankful for.

 

In some unexpected, surprising way,

not only did you survive, but now

you acknowledge the silver lining of your heartache.

 

You came out on the other side of your sorrow

thanking God for the blessings wrapped up in the hurts.

 

He brought beauty from your ashes:

He gave you the oil of joy—a joyous blessing—

instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

instead of heaviness and despair (Isaiah 61:3).

 

That’s what you want to put in writing

for your family and friends.

 

How did it happen?

 

If you haven’t sorted through that already, I encourage you to do so.

 

Take time—make time—to examine the past. Be deliberate.

 

Peel back layers and discover what you hadn’t noticed before.

 

How, specifically, did you travel from grief . . .

 to anger,

and then to hope . . .

and then to some degree of healing?

 

I say “some degree of healing” because most of us, despite the mending and restoring and rebuilding, still have an ache in our hearts.

 

You might be saying, “But I still have scars!”

 

I understand. I still have scars, too.

 

But a scar is not the same as a wound.

 

A wound is an injury, a laceration, a blow, a rip, a break.

 

But a scar is

“a mark left where a wound or injury or sore has healed.”

(Oxford American Dictionary)

 

A scar is what you have after you’ve mended.

The bleeding has stopped. The scab has fallen off.

 

Instead of thinking of a scar as something damaged,

defective, or disfigured,

isn’t it better to see the scar as something that has healed?

 

Think of your scar as an emblem declaring you survived, as evidence of healing.

 

 

Take a good hard look at the way God answered prayers. You might not have detected them at the time, but looking back, you can clearly identify God’s specific answers.

 

Notice the people God brought into your life to shine a little light in your darkness.

 

What Bible verses popped off the page and gave you hope for the future?

 

• Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4).
• The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and He saves those whose spirits have been crushed (Psalm 34:18).
• Those who go to God Most High for safety will be protected by the Almighty (Psalm 91:1).
• He has put His angels in charge of you to watch over you wherever you go (Psalm 91:11).
• They will call upon Me and I will answer them. I will be with them in trouble; I will rescue them and honor them (Psalm 91:15).
• “I know what I am planning for you,” says the Lord. “I have good plans for you, not plans to hurt you. I will give you hope and a good future” (Jeremiah 29:11).
• “At the right time, I, the Lord, will act. . . .” (Isaiah 60:22)
• I give new life to those . . . whose hearts are broken (Isaiah 57:15b).
• He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds (Psalm 147:3).
• Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning (Psalm 30:5b).
• How long, Lord, must I call for help . . . ?  I will stand like a guard to watch . . . . I will wait to see what He will say to me; I will wait to learn how God will answer my complaint (Habakkuk 1:2, 2:1).
• God knows where I am going. And when He tests me, I will come out as pure as gold (Job 23:10).

 

Note turning points or significant events.

 

During the early stages of what I call my personal 9/11, when I despaired of ever really living again, for some inexplicable reason I planted nasturtium seeds.

 

Shortly afterward, it occurred to me that that was a strange thing for a person to do who feared she might not survive. Would I live long enough to see those seeds sprout? Maybe even blossom?

 

Soon I was deeply moved by discovering that a seemingly insignificant activity—planting seeds—was an act of faith and hope for the future.

 

I clung to that tiny ray of hope day after day and, before long, nasturtiums began to bloom, and I was still alive, and the flowers were brilliant. Planting those seeds was a tiny but significant turning point for me—one of many.

 

Look at that green!

Let me tell you another beauty-from-ashes story. One day when my husband and I lived in eastern Washington, a wildfire raced through our part of the state, destroying mile after mile of crops, barns, farm equipment, and houses. In every direction, as far as we could see, the world was all ash.

 

But, to my surprise, a couple of days later I could see wee little green grasses sprouting up through the ruins. Mile after mile, I noted the lovely, hopeful green! My heart rejoiced! God had already begun the healing process. That, too, was a turning point for me.

 

What were your turning points, the pivotal moments?

Identify them as you write.

 

This next part is important:

Remember, your readers want to know

how you navigated

through your crisis

so they can do the same

when they go through their own unwelcome challenges.

 

They look to you as a role model.

 

You do that by including TAKEAWAYS for readers.

 

Do you remember what a takeaway is?

 

Next week we’ll cover takeaways. For now, work on your rough drafts, praying your way through the writing, and offering readers the gift of both mourning and thanksgiving.

 

Your story is going to be great! God is going to use it.

 

“Hope is the answer” and you’re cleared to go

“During my intense grieving moments,” writes Dana Goodman, “other people’s stories gave me words to describe the ache that was indescribable. They gave me hope that a new day would dawn, and I would not be stuck in the black forever.”

Hope.

“Sharing hope truly is the heart of this writing business,” writes Mick Silva. “Words are like packaging. They’re pretty or flashy or sad or boring. And while everyone appreciates good packaging, ultimately it’s the hope inside them that matters…. We each have to ask…whether we want to share hope or not.”

Read that again. “We each have to ask…whether we want to share hope or not.” That zings, doesn’t it?

The Bible tells us to comfort others

with the comfort we’ve received from God.

(2 Corinthians 1:4)

Your memoir can do that.

That means writing your memoir is not a hobby, it’s a ministry.

Eugene Peterson suggests the church should ordain writers in the way they ordain pastors.

“There are never enough storytellers,” he says. “There are a lot of people who want to write stories but they don’t want to go through the discipline, the agony, the immersion in life it requires…. I think writing is one of the sacred callings. I wish, in fact, that the church would ordain writers the way they ordain pastors….”

Is that a new thought to you?

If so, make time to ask yourself these questions:

How different would your writing be if you viewed yourself as ordained to tell your story?

Can you—will you—consider yourself ordained to tell your story?

Let’s take a minute to ponder: What does it mean to be ordained?

It means to be approved, authorized, appointed, anointed, selected, and chosen.

It means to be commissioned, empowered, assigned, entrusted, and consecrated. And cleared to go.

Last Thursday I asked, “If your scars could talk, what stories would they tell?”

Have you thought about that question in the past few days?

Maybe something or someone maimed you, left you blemished, flawed, maybe even deformed—maybe in little ways, maybe in massive ways. Perhaps they left you broken, immobilized. Some scars are visible, some are hidden inside.

But remember: A scar is evidence of healing.

How did God transform your wounds into scars?

Who and what did God use to bring healing?

As a result of your experience, what hope can you pass on to others?

Are you now super-inspired to write your story? Please say Yes!

Believe God has

approved, authorized, appointed you.

He has anointed, selected, and chosen you.

Believe God has

commissioned, empowered, assigned you.

He has entrusted, and consecrated you

to carry out our key verses:

Always remember, and never forget,

what you’ve seen God do for you,

and be sure to tell your children and grandchildren.

Deuteronomy 4:9

Jesus said, “Go tell your family everything

God has done for you.”

Luke 8:39

Like Kellie McGann said, “Hope is the answer your readers are searching for…. Tell them they’re not alone in their dark night of the soul.”

“…Writing your story is the only way

to truly express what God did.

And you can’t believe just how remarkable he is

until you step back and see it for yourself.”

Mick Silva, Higher Purpose Writers

Your story can change a life.

Someone needs the hope you can offer.

So hear this:

You know what you’ve been commissioned to do,

and you—you—are cleared to go.

If your scars could talk, what stories would they tell?

Scars. You have a few. So do I. When writing our stories, we’ll almost certainly need to examine one or more of the wounds that caused our scars.

Keep in mind that a scar is not the same as a wound.

A wound is an injury, a laceration, a gash, a blow, a rip. Some wounds are superficial, but others are deep and agonizing.

On the other hand, a scar is “a mark left where a wound or injury or sore has healed” (Oxford American Dictionary).

Read that again: A scar is what you have after healing has occurred. After the bleeding has stopped. After the scab has fallen off.

A scar is evidence of healing.

When we think of a scar, too often we associate it with something damaged, defective. A disfigurement, an impairment.

But isn’t it better to recognize that a scar is something that has healed?

Think of your scar as an emblem declaring you’re repaired, a symbol of surviving, evidence your wound has mended.

So I ask: 

If your scars could talk, what stories would they tell?

Most of us are good at keeping our wounds and scars secret—maybe even from ourselves, but a good memoirist will not leave them in hiding.

Dani Shapiro says, “What we ignore, we ignore at our own peril. What we embrace with courage, perseverance, humility, and clarity, becomes our instrument of illumination.”

“Our instrument of illumination.” 

A good memoirist will

invite God to stand alongside—or maybe inside—

and help peel back layers,

get out a magnifying glass,

connect the dots,

and discover the deeper, broader, bigger story.

A good memoirist will make time

to examine the chapters of his life

in which God used wounds

to turn his story in a different

and better direction.

That reminds me of Bev Murrill’s words about Romans 8:28, “Paul said all things work together for good for people who love the Lord and are called according to His purposes. That doesn’t mean what happened is good, but that God can use even the most terrible things if we will let Him treat the wounds and heal them.”

C.S. Lewis said, “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” Your job as a memoirist is to look back and discover that extraordinary destiny God has been working out for you—a destiny you couldn’t have experienced if it weren’t for your hardship, your wound. You have a scar to prove it.

Search for answers to Thornton Wilder’s question: “Without your wounds where would you be?”

How did God transform your wounds into scars?

Who and what did God use to bring healing? 

• A doctor, counselor, or medicine,
• a Bible passage or Bible study, 
• a book, 
• prayer, 
• a strategically placed friend or relative,
• time and distance,
• writing or journaling.

God has many ways of turning wounds into scars.

Bev Murrill says God is capable of “turning ugly gaping wounds into scars that serve as badges of honor and trophies of the grace of God at work in me.”

What badges of honor

and trophies of God’s grace

will you include in your memoir?

Someone needs to know your story.

Someone needs the hope your story can offer.

If your scars could talk,

what stories would they tell?

Tuesday Tidbit: “Minister to others with the same wound”

Related posts:

Writing your untold stories

"Marked by inner scars, yet also empowered by your experiences"

Share what you discovered in the dark

If your scars could talk, what stories would they tell?

Scars. You have a few. So do I. When writing our stories, we’ll almost certainly need to examine one or more of the wounds that caused our scars.

Keep in mind that a scar is not the same as a wound.

A wound is an injury, a laceration, a gash, a blow, a rip. Some are superficial, but some are deep and agonizing.

On the other hand, a scar is “a mark left where a wound or injury or sore has healed” (Oxford American Dictionary; emphasis mine).

Read that again: a scar is what you have left after healing has taken place. After the bleeding has stopped. After the scab has fallen off.

A scar is evidence of healing.

When we think of a scar, we think of something damaged, defective. We think of disfigurement and impairment. But also, don’t you think it’s good to recognize that a scar is something that has healed?

Think of your scar as an emblem declaring you’ve been repaired, a symbol of surviving, evidence that your wounds have been mended. You’ve been restored to good health.

And that’s why I ask: If your scars could talk, what stories would they tell?

Something or someone maimed you, leaving you blemished, flawed, maybe even deformed—maybe in little ways, or maybe in massive ways.

Some visible on the outside, some hidden inside.

Did you know that if you pinch a butterfly’s wings, she’s unable to navigate properly afterwards? You know what that’s like, don’t you? Bruises and defects can leave us reeling and stumbling. Sometimes, even worse, our wounds can leave us immobilized, broken down.

Most of us can get pretty creative in finding ways to keep our wounds and scars secret, hidden away. But a good memoirist will not stay stuck there.

A good memoirist will invite God

to stand alongside

and help peel back layers,

dig deeply,

get out a magnifying glass,

connect the dots,

and discover the deeper, broader story.

A good memoirist will make time

to examine the chapter of his life

in which God used wounds

to turn his story a different

and better direction.

That reminds me of Bev Murrill’s words about Romans 8:28, “Paul said all things work together for good for people who love the Lord and are called according to His purposes. That doesn’t mean what happened is good, but that God can use even the most terrible things if we will let Him treat the wounds and heal them” (emphasis mine).

C.S. Lewis said, “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” Your job as a memoirist is to look back and discover that extraordinary destiny God has been working out for you—a destiny you couldn’t have experienced if it weren’t for your hardship, your wound. You have the scar to prove it.

For the next few days, search for answers to Thornton Wilder’s question: “Without your wounds where would you be?”

Then sit down in front of your computer screen, or get out your pen and paper, and write about the ways God tended and mended your wounds. How did He transform your wounds into scars? 

Who and what did God use to bring healing? Maybe a doctor, a counselor, medicine. Or perhaps the Bible, a book, prayer, a strategically placed friend or relative. Possibly time and distance helped. Maybe writing or journaling made a difference in your healing process. God has many ways of turning wounds into scars.

Bev Murrill says God is capable of “turning ugly gaping wounds into scars that serve as badges of honour and trophies of the grace of God at work in me” (emphasis mine).

What badges of honor

and trophies of God’s grace

will you include in your memoir?

Your stories are important.

Like Peter Mommsen said,

 “If we are going to live with courage

and joy and integrity,

we need honest, true-to-life stories

to show us how.…”

Your memoir could do that.

If your scars could talk,

what stories would they tell?

Don’t miss Bev Murrill’s blog post, Scar +God = Badge of Honor.