Reality Check
Have you put reality into a box?
Last week my friend Jamie and I drove up to Nashville for our annual summer writers’ retreat for The Habit. It is always a weekend of richness, a beautiful convergence of likeminded people. I try to make time ahead of the retreat for solitude and silence because I know I’m going to be pouring out in deep conversation and receiving back equal portions. I often come home worried I might be getting a cold—I’m exhausted, and my throat is raw. Then within a day back I’m fine, and I realize again I just talked a lot and focused very intently, soaking in the truth, goodness, and beauty of my fellow writers.
The theme1 this year was “A Taste of Reality” and one of our sessions delved into what we meant by “reality.” We discussed the tendency to narrow reality by forcing it into boxes. There is the naturalistic box where reality is only what we can see and touch in the material world. As Christians, that one is immediately tossed out, and our current culture seems to be reacting against this box, too. There is too much evidence and longing for something “more than” in our world.
Another box is that reality is a grim, gritty picture; the world is mapped out in black, gray, and white. Trauma rules in this box, and evil gets the final word. Power is always negative. This is a tricky zone for writers because these things do exist in the world, and if we want to write what is true we can’t ignore them. It becomes problematic, though, if that’s the only side of life we show. It is a limited picture. In reality, there is also color and hope.
One of the reality boxes I’ve felt lately, and one I’ve experienced growing up, is a tendency among Christians to shove everything into a “must share Christ” box. It shows up in churches under the necessary command to bring the hope and joy of Jesus’ death for our sin and his resurrection—this truth is essential to who we are and how we engage with the world. When I was growing up, I often heard this analogy: “If you had a cure for cancer, wouldn’t you share it with everyone? We have the cure for death! How can we hide it?”
But even this well-intentioned truth can become a faulty reality box. Kraig and I have seen it in a misguided perspective of what it means to have unity in the church. In essence it shows up as, “We are ‘united’ and don’t get sidetracked by internal church squabbles if we all have the same goal of sharing Christ with the lost.” I have struggled with this concept for years because most of my spheres of life have been in teaching and working in Christian circles. The concept that all of the Christian life is sharing Christ ignores the reality that is clearly shown throughout the New Testament: we are various parts of one body, and every part is needed. My own gifts flourish in places where I am teaching or talking with other Christians, trying to give them tools to help them live life as a Christ follower, or to encourage them to keep on keeping on, that God is with them and there is hope, even in dark days. When I’m told I have to “present the Gospel” to everyone I meet (and the “Gospel” is only that Jesus died for our sins and rose again, whether the person I’m speaking to even knows who Jesus is) my soul shrivels a bit, and I feel burdened by a huge weight. I don’t feel like that’s an accurate picture of what life in Christ should look like.
The other week I wrote about my feeling of overwhelm and I reminded myself that I have to live the life God has put before me. I was writing from a place of weakness, sort of showing you all where I was and who I am. I was surprised how many reached out saying they identified with that feeling, and I felt a truth I believe—that I am not alone. Not only that, my weakness is part of God’s design. If I know I can’t do certain things, I sometimes wallow in shame and guilt, or I try to force myself to do those things and beg God to change me. It’s true that sometimes there are things I need to work on and improve. I can’t just rest in my weakness or use it as an excuse. At the same time, if I am willing to accept that I have strengths in certain areas and limitations in others, and I see that as how God made me, I am free to see where others have strengths I lack and I can lean into their expertise. Others in turn can rely on my strengths. The beauty of this is that as these various parts come together, a whole results. We then reflect Reality in all its complex beauty and messiness, and understand a better picture of who God is and how he created us.
“When I am weak, then I am strong,” the Apostle Paul says2. He speaks of finding his strength in Christ, that Christ works through our weaknesses. But Paul doesn’t see himself as a lone piece, or even just a “him and Jesus” piece. He sees himself as a part of community—the Body, the Church.3
Our local churches should live in this Reality, too. If people within a church are leaning into each other’s strengths and helping one another despite differences, encouraging each other to depend on each one’s strengths, our community is going to become a strange and wondrous anomaly in the world we live in. Imagine in this age of broken families, horrific traumas, disease and disabilities, and divisive politics—imagine seeing in this a group of people who help each other and care for each other despite all their differences. Imagine entering that community, and being welcomed in, accepted as you are, but then given the tools and support to transform into someone better. Imagine being a part of that community. I’d be eager to tell others about it, as much as I love to talk about my writing community or things I’m learning. I’d want to share why this community works and who I live for.
This, I think, is Reality without a box.
Inspired by Jennifer Trafton’s biography of Lilias Trotter, If Only We Could See—which I’ve finished now, and it’s absolutely beautiful.
2 Corinthians 12:10b
1 Corinthians 12 (and all over Paul’s letters)
Art for the week:
This one is “heart art,” not visual. I had my soul-filling experience last weekend, but during this past week our son Jon had camp to kick off his year in LeTourneau’s Passage Institute, a fellowship program for students who want to dig deeper into theology and how that applies to their life. The week concludes with parents invited for a taste of the kids’ worship time, held in Speer Chapel, the one original building on LeTourneau’s campus. As I write, Jon is debriefing with his sister Ev who went through the program over her senior year. I can’t wait to see how God works in Jon’s life over this next year.
Check out my Daughter of Arden Trilogy at Bandersnatchbooks.com, along with other great titles.
You can find links to more of my writing at A Shaft of Sun Through the Rain and my old blog, Willing, Wanting, Waiting.
Don’t forget to check out Bandersnatch Books’ podcast, including my interview in Season 1, episode 2!
I’m excited to share Flicker.Press with you, the latest creation of Bandersnatch Books’ Rachel Donahue and her husband, Mick. You can read more about it here, but the gist of the site is it’s a place where readers can preview the first chapter of various books, then buy credits to read further on. It’s a great way to get a taste of something you might be interested in. Apparently there are other sites like this out there, but their content isn’t monitored, so they include work created by AI, and a lot of garbage. Flicker.Press, on the other hand, is closely curated, and promotes what is good, true, and beautiful.
They currently have all of Bandersnatch Books’ titles on their site (so my trilogy), along with works by various authors in The Habit, the writing community I’m a member of. One fun feature is that authors can post a work in progress, and there is a place for readers to give feedback. Check it out!
Abraham Kuyper — 'There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!'
Reality without a box.
Yes! I’ve felt the same tension as someone in full-time ministry. Thank you for sharing some reality with me over a bowl of oatmeal last weekend. 💕