Offer readers your all-important takeaways to help them move from mourning to thanksgiving

 

For the past couple of weeks, you’ve considered writing stories in your memoir that embrace both mourning and thanksgiving. (Click on What can you offer readers about mourning AND thanksgiving?)

 

You’ve experienced heartbreaks, setbacks,

and devastating losses.

 

But now, years later, you recognize

there’s more to your story.

Something to be thankful for.

 

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.

(See Part 2: What can you offer readers

about mourning AND thanksgiving?)

 

As beautiful as the story now is, it isn’t complete unless you include takeaways for readers.

 

Offering people a takeaway means you tell them the most important lesson you took away from a given experience. You tell them how you gained clarity and wisdom, how that helped make sense of your life, and how you changed as a result.

 

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.

 

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 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.” 

(Read more at Your memoir’s takeaways can change lives.)

 

Below you’ll find examples of takeaways. I hope they’ll inspire you to share with others about both mourning and thanksgiving:

 

“At first glance, the thought that there is a blessing in our wounds sounds absurd,” writes Julie Sousa Bradley Lilly. She lists memories of “betrayals, insults, abandonments, embarrassments, injuries, pain and loss. . . .”

 

“When I have resisted bitterness and sought [God] in a hard or painful circumstance, He has used it to transform me into a better person that chooses a different path. Betrayals made me loyal. Insults made me kind. Abandonments made me faithful. . . . And injuries, pain and loss made me more compassionate and generous. . . .

 

“Terrible things happen in this life, and I wouldn’t for a second minimize another’s suffering. I only want to offer an opportunity to exchange a label of ‘victim’ for one that says, ‘blessed.’” (Blessings in Our Wounds, Julie Sousa Bradley Lilly, Ragamuffin Warrior)

 

Below you’ll find several other sample takeaways to help you write your own takeaways:  

 

“I’ve learned to embrace change, and acknowledge my fears knowing that no matter what lies ahead, God is ever present and I never have to walk this journey alone. And neither do you. Let’s not forget that although change, closed chapters, and life moving forward may bring us saddened hearts, it also brings us out of our comfort zones, spurring new beginnings and opportunities. By altering our perspective, often without notice, little by little we transform—our hearts, our views, our lives, our faith. We become wiser, stronger, more resilient, and positive . . . . What a gift. One day at a time, we got this.” (Daphne Bach Greer—the Sweeter Side of Grief)

 

The Farm Wyfe, Amanda Wells, offers this: “I’ve done enough living to know there are seasons when life challenges us, when God gives us opportunities to trust him even when the outlook is bleak. Even when exhaustion overrides all else and I’m hanging by a thread, I trust him because I have seen his faithfulness. I’ve experienced God’s hand on my life and I know he will get me through the hard times. . . . because God’s got this even when I don’t.”

 

Kaitlyn Bouchillon writes about praying to God for relief from something awful, only to find Him silent . . . for a long time. Nothing seemed to change.

 

“It’s there, in the place where things don’t make sense,” she writes, “. . . that a miracle begins to take place.”

 

She offers this takeaway: “This is the hard but beautiful truth: The ‘other side’ of The Thing you’re hoping for, praying for, daily asking God for . . . it might not end up looking like what you hoped/prayed/asked. It might be that what changes is  . . . you.

 

“It might be that instead of walls falling,

by God’s grace and His strength,

at the end of it all you’re still standing.

That’s still a miracle.

That’s still an answered prayer.”

 

Kaitlyn's words, “It might be that what changes is you,” reminds me of my own experience of transitioning from mourning to thanksgiving, in Colombia, South America, after suffering several months of culture shock at a remote mission center named Lomalinda (pretty hill). 

 

Equatorial heat and intense humidity brought me to my knees. 

I was utterly discombobulated and, in desperation, I refused to unpack and threatened to run away and walk (!) all the way home to Seattle by way of Central America, Mexico, California, Oregon, and finally arrive in my Washington State.

 

But, after a few months of settling into my job and getting acquainted with Lomalinda’s people, to my surprise, I discovered that I loved living there.

 

I wrote in my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir:

 

“In moving to Lomalinda, I had taken a wild-eyed dive of faith and, halfway into it, I wondered where I’d land. And when I did land, I hit the ground hard. That place seemed so alien and harsh—yet that’s where God rescued me from myself.

 

“I had flown into the mission center as a scared, immature, unadventurous, doubting Thomas. God didn’t need me to accomplish His work in Colombia—He could have found someone else to do my job. He did more inside me than He did through me, and I suspect that was His point all along. He knew my faith and I needed to mature.

 

“Through situations, experiences—sometimes derailing, other times almost imperceptible—God expanded my heart and soul and mind and revolutionized the way I would look at life and Him for the rest of my days.

 

“He showed me that despite my fears and weaknesses,

He is strong.

When chaos reigns, He is in control.

When the unpredictable happens, He’s already there.

When I am vulnerable, He is my protection.

Exhausted, God is my strength.

Under that searing Lomalinda sun, God sheltered me,

and my family, under the shadow of His wings.

When I wanted to pull back,

He took my hand and nudged me forward,

and when my grip grew weary,

His brawny hand held on.

He sat beside me when I grieved over

taking my kids away from

their grandparents, aunts, and uncles.

He became my calm in the storm,

my rock when my world shook.

Every moment, every day, every night,

He hovered over my family and me

and calmed us with His love.

Sometimes God even showed His sense of humor,

though at the time I usually failed to appreciate it.

 

“ . . . If I had refused to move to Lomalinda, I’d have missed tarantulas and scorpions and cockroaches and howler monkeys’ breathy howls in the distance and cicadas’ ear-piercing whistles and parrots’ rowdy calls morning and evening.

 

“I’d have missed eating piraña, boa constrictor, caiman, dove, platanos, ajiaco . . . and cinnamon rolls seasoned with dead weevils. . . . I’d have missed drinking chicha, and tinto, and warm bottled sodas, sometimes with bugs inside.

 

“Before Lomalinda  . . . never would I . . . have envisioned myself chopping up a dead pig on the kitchen floor. . . .

 

“But moving to Lomalinda, despite my whines and protestations, took me—physically, culturally, and spiritually—to places better, higher, and finer than anything I could have dreamed.

 

“Glenny Gardner had welcomed me by showing me the coolest thing he could think of—a boa constrictor. In the same way, Dave wanted his wife and kids to experience the coolest thing he could imagine—living in Lomalinda. Rich offered me the coolest opportunity he knew—a trip to La Guajira. And from the beginning to the end, God, too, was offering me the coolest thing—working in Lomalinda.

 

“God had allowed what I would not have asked for

to give me what I didn’t know I wanted.”

(Catherine P. Downing, Sparks of Redemptive Grace)

For more inspiration, click here to read Ashley Travous’s takeaways in her powerful post, To the Woman Who Stole My Husband.  

 

You’ll also find good insights from Reflecting on God’s Wonders in Difficult Times.

 

Take plenty of time to craft your takeaways. Pinpoint your message. Clarity is your goal.

 

Your takeaways will strengthen your readers' faith. They will give them wisdom that they’ll take with them long after they’ve read your final page.

 

Your story can offer hope to those in despair. Your story can model courage overcoming cowardice.  Your story can model calm for those tangled up in chaos.  

 

Your story can shine light in the darkness:

 

“At times, our own light goes out

and is rekindled by a spark from another person.

Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude

of those who have lighted the flame within us.”

(Albert Schweitzer)

 

Who needs to read your story?

Someone is waiting for your spark to rekindle theirs.

 

Back to Basics: “Make ‘em cry” by re-living the painful parts so that you can write them

 

Have you made progress in applying “make ‘em cry” to your memoir? I hope so! (Click on last week’s Make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em wait.)

If you’re a writer, or want to be a writer, follow Wilkie Collins’ counsel, “Make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em wait” because those three keep readers engaged in your story.

 

By “engaged,” I mean that if readers can get into your story,

they can grasp what you’re offering them.

 

Yes, I said, “what you’re offering them.”

 

Readers want to get something for themselves from your memoir.

 

Ron Hutchcraft explained how that can work:

“Often, a major life-storm means a major life-loss of some kind: your health, your income, your future plans, your marriage, your loved one.  And that loss leaves a gaping hole. . . .

“But after the storm, you have a choice. Let your loss—and the hole it leaves—define your life from now on. Goodbye, hope.

“Or begin to rebuild your life around that hole. And to rebuild your life on what you've learned from that loss. Now that's a blueprint for hope.  From the devastation of one storm comes a new strength to withstand future storms.”

  

That’s what you can offer readers:

Tell them what you ascertained about hope,

and how you learned that

 “from the devastation . . . comes a new strength

to withstand the storms.”

 

You see, if they recognize they have something in common with you,

they can find courage and healing and solutions the way you did.

 

Readers are looking for the takeaways you extend to them.

 

Takeaways are your insights—the lessons you learned—

which they can apply to their own lives,

gems you uncovered that will guide them in the future,

a reason to trust God,

a better understanding of themselves,

and a resource for living well.

 

That means you must write your story.

 

But that means you must re-live the painful parts so that you can write them.

 

And today I offer you help with that: 

 

When you’re ready to write—even the blistered parts—Bill Roorbach, in his Writing Life Stories, explains a creative, helpful way to (a) recall situations that made you cry, and then (b) write about them.

 

Bill suggests you utilize method writing, a spin-off of method acting.

 

Here’s how method acting works:

 

Before the curtain rises, the actor remembers an occasion in which he experienced the emotion he needs to act out. He spends time reliving that emotion so that when he steps on stage, he’s all wrapped up in the ache or the passion or the anger and succeeds in playing his part.

 

Method writing, then, requires you to step out of the present and into the past. If you’re writing about a tragic event, take time (set aside time) to remember the event and relive it so you can rediscover the emotions you felt.

 

Avoid over-the-top hysteria

but be honest in admitting your emotional response.

 

In the midst of the reliving, ask yourself:

 

• What was at stake? What did I have to lose or gain?
• What dreams would never come true?
• At the time, how did I envision my life would never be the same?
• Where would I find courage to live another day?
• What were my fears?
• My hopes?
• My prayers?

 

When you’re caught up in the emotion, get it onto paper or computer screen.

 

Your “emotion should be so realistic and gripping that the reader can’t help but feel it too. . .” (Becca Puglisi)

 

To paraphrase Larry Brooks, make your readers happy they are not there, yet grateful to feel what it was like to be you.

 

Emotion: That’s how you create a way for readers to join you in your story, to make them care, to compel them to keep reading, and to find the gems and blessings you’re offering them.

For now, make 'em cry. In future weeks, we'll make 'em laugh and make 'em wait.

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.

 

Your readers look to you for answers, guidance, and inspiration

 You’re writing your memoir for more than your readers’ entertainment.

 

Your story, like all stories, has layers of significance, and whether or not readers realize it, they’re looking to you for answers and guidance and inspiration.

 

They want to know how you coped with life—

sorrows and joys,

victories and defeats,

despair and hope—

so they can apply your story to their own life’s story.

 

They’re looking for a takeway—that part of your story they will always hold close because it impacted their lives.

 

Be sure your memoir has takeaways—

but more than that: state your takeaways.

Put them into words.

 

Takeaways:

• your insights that readers can apply to their own lives,
• lessons you learned that will guide them in the future,
• a resource for living life well,
• a reason to hope,
• a reason to trust God,
• a better understanding of themselves and their purposes.

 

Train yourself to recognize takeaways in your stories. Dig around and find them because the gems you’ll unearth can be rich treasures for your readers.

 

The other day I was reading John Ogilvie’s devotional, Silent Strength for My Life, and realized it was packed with takeaways.

 

As I sat there reading, I thought of you—those who follow Spiritual Memoirs 101. I asked myself, What stories can people write to illustrate the points Ogilvie is making here?

 

Ogilvie writes about Jesus’ words in Luke 9:23: “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.”

 

To some of your readers, that verse could sound old-fashioned and religious and maybe even irrelevant in today’s world. But Ogilvie brings that verse alive in practical ways for today’s readers, and you can do the same.

 

First, he reminds us of Henry David Thoreau and the familiar saying about “marching to the beat of a different drummer.”

 

Ogilvie writes, “Christians march to the drumbeat of Christ, He’s our ‘different drummer.’ His will, His Kingdom, and His values set the cadences for our life. We belong first and foremost to Him. The one place He will not accept is second place. . . .”

 

Ogilvie then gets specific. While you read the following, ask yourself what stories you can include in your memoir to illustrate his points:

 

• “In what relationships, situations, and responsibilities do we find it most difficult to march with our Drummer?”
• “It’s so easy to tone down or compromise our convictions to maintain popularity. Sometimes our thinking is controlled more by culture than by Christ.”
• “If we were totally committed, what would we do differently today?”
• “Following our Drummer requires times alone with Him so we can receive His marching orders.”
• “When we do [receive His marching orders], we’ll discover the meaning of another . . . metaphor: We find ourselves on ‘a road less traveled.’ But it’s a road that will be traveled with and for the Master.”
• “Listen for the drumbeat.”

 

Which of your past experiences illustrate the above points? Maybe you’ll come up with a personal incident, or perhaps you’ll write about watching another person living through one or more of the above points.

 

Give yourself time to recall your past and find events and experiences and conversations and outcomes that illustrate Ogilvie’s message.

 

Remember:

Readers long to discover takeaways.

They search for universal truths, transforming truths,

spiritual truths, underlying truths, relevant truths.

 

Readers want to find—

sometimes they even ache to find, burn to find—

such truths and takeaways from your memoir

so they can apply them to their own lives.

 

You see, there’s a reason the Bible is full of stories.

People respond to stories on a deep level and,

as a result, stories can be transformative—

they can change hearts and minds and lives.

 

God has given you experiences

that you can turn into stories for others.

 

Pray and ask Him to help you remember your past

and then to find words to put important messages into writing.

Your stories are important.

 

Be good stewards of your experiences and stories.

 

God can use your memoir in ways you might never imagine!

 

Your stories could be life-changing for those who read them.

 

Your memoir’s value to readers: Recognizing their story in yours

Our “stories all overlap and mingle like searchlights in the dark. . . .” writes Frederick Buechner. “My story and your story are all part of each other. . . . All our stories are in the end one story, one vast story about being human, being together, being here.”

And he asks what every memoirist must ask: “Does [my] story point beyond itself? Does it mean something?” (The Clown in the Belfry)

The memoirist must be able to answer “Yes.”

You see, it’s tempting to think a memoir is all about you but, at some point in your writing, take a high, wide look from above. For your readers’sake, identify your story’s universal principles, truths, struggles, quests, and values.

Why? Because when your experience exemplifies universals, readers recognize their story in yours. 

A good memoir “always connects the reader's heart with a deeper truth,” writes Jeff Goins. “Memoir is about something that is bigger than you. It's about a part of life we can all connect to.”

Human lives overlap. We all hover within universal human emotions, conditions, and happenings. We all experience joys and sorrows, triumphs and failures, courage and cowardice. We all have chosen wisely as well as foolishly. We are proud of certain moments and ashamed of others. 

Readers, like all of us, feel alone in their wobbly efforts, false starts, dead ends, and meandering lives. One reader might think she's the only one longing to find love or acceptance or success. For another reader, personal transformation hurts and it’s easy for a man to assume he's along in worrying through times of change. Another reader might be struggling to overcome fear.

When readers pick up your memoir, whether they realize it or not they want to see where their lives intersect with yours. They want to relate to you. Within your story, readers can discover they aren't alone: They’ll recognize themselves in your story when you write about issues that concern them, when your story is about more than you. They want to learn from you and apply what you learned to their own lives. Your job, then, is to look for ways your story resonates with all of us.

This is an example of what I mean: “During my intense grieving moments, 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.” (Dana Goodman, author, In the Cleft: Joy Comes in the Mourning)

In that way, memoirists have the privilege of being what Anaïs Nin calls “the guides and mapmakers.”

Within your story, look for universal principles and truths about honor, tenacity, valor, generosity, kindness, commitment, self-discipline, sympathy, integrity—the list could go on and on.

Stories need takeaways, gifts you offer readers, those “A-ha” moments when the lights come on, when they identify and apply your life’s lessons to their own lives.

Your memoir’s universal appeal and takeaways

can spark defining moments in your readers—

inspiring them to take action, opening for them new opportunities—

and leaving them changed for the better.

As a memoirist, you have the privilege of lighting their way.