What if God is like boxed mac and cheese?

A couple of months ago, we had a friend over for a play date. She and her mom had driven up from their house and were staying for lunch. We hadn’t seen them in a while, but the kids got along well.

I hadn’t been to the store and was a little low on groceries, but I had enough to make mac and cheese, a homemade way, with boxed pasta covered in a flour-butter-milk sauce with melted cheese. I told the little girl who was visiting that we were having mac and cheese for lunch, and she was super excited all morning because let’s face it, mac and cheese is a pretty great promise.

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But when lunchtime came, she expressed disappointment about what was in her bowl.

“Mommy, I don’t like it!”

I can’t remember if she tried it, and really, it wasn’t my best effort at homemade mac and cheese. Fortunately, her mom came prepared with a microwavable bowl of the Kraft kind, and she ate that like a champ.

Nothing against boxed mac and cheese. I’ve eaten my fair share of that in my lifetime, and my kids like it when we have it.

Still, it’s not “real.”

We’ve been starting to make some changes in the food we eat and buy, opting for more “real” and “natural” ingredients. The coffee creamer I use is made with milk, cream and sugar. This revelation came when I bought some non-dairy stuff off the shelf at Dollar General, and I thought, “What exactly is this stuff?” The answer: a bunch of things mixed together to taste like creamer.

Our favorite ice cream maker has a new line of all-natural ice creams. One night last week I tried a salted caramel variety and I kid you not, it was like tasting ice cream for the first time.

I’ve been eating fake food for so long I’ve forgotten what real food tastes like. 

It might take some time for my palate to readjust. Or maybe not. Every summer I swear I’ll never eat another store-bought tomato when I’ve tasted the sweet juiciness of a homegrown one from the farmer’s market. Until winter comes and I want tomatoes and all I have available is the reddish, tasteless tomato-shaped fruit in the store.

Then I settle for something less than real.

And I fear the Church, and my faith, may suffer the same taste preference as our 3-year-old friend: We prefer the fake to the real because we don’t know what real is.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Words from a Psalm, and yet do I believe it? That God is good.

A member of the local Jehovah’s Witness congregation periodically stops by our house, mostly to talk to my husband, but since he’s not around as much because of his work schedule, I’m the one who ends up talking to him. This week, he handed me the weekly literature, which posed the question, “Is God cruel?”

“What do you think of that question, Lisa?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t think God is cruel,” I said. And in my heart I added, He is far better to us than we deserve.

Words my head affirms but the truth is I have shaken my fist at God, doubted His goodness and demanded He do things my way. As recent as last week, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “Don’t You see what we’ve given up for You?”

As if God owes me anything.

Boxed mac and cheese is quick, easy and it tastes good enough to eat, even if it doesn’t provide much in the way of nutrition.

And sometimes I want a quick, easy faith that makes me feel all warm and cozy.

Not the kind that requires patience and preparation and that might be bland if I rush it and skip a step.

And sometimes God gives me what I want, but it leaves me feeling empty. Hungry for something more.

I think of the song we’ve sung for fun at camp:

I wish I had a little white box

to put my Jesus in

I’d take him out and kiss, kiss, kiss

and put him back again

Maybe it’s all fun and nobody takes it seriously, but I wonder how many of us have Jesus in a box and we only take Him out of it when it suits us? How many of us are living a faith that is only a shadow of the real thing?

And I’m not talking about not being saved or a member of the church or a faithful disciple. Even those who followed Jesus while He was on earth got it wrong, creating in their minds a Savior of a different kind.

I’m talking about opening the box and letting Jesus out, even if we’re not sure we’re going to like what He has to say or wants us to do.

Taste and see.

Yesterday was the Day of Pentecost, the day the church marks as the birth of a movement that would spread worldwide for thousands of years. The Holy Spirit arrived and Jesus was no longer limited to his earthly body.

The Spirit moves today.

But sometimes we put Him back in the box, choosing to believe only what is safe, comfortable and palatable.

What if we’re missing something?

Something real. Wholesome. And good.

What if I’m not really following Jesus at all but just a cheap substitute?

Taste and see.

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For when you think no one sees you {a 3-part reflection}

Part I

Pine trees tower over the backyard sanctuary where she sits in the cool of a spring day, head wrapped in a scarf to protect her from the sun.

She’s dying of cancer and her body battles diabetes.

I only know this because her name is on the prayer list at church, though I’ve never seen her there. She is a shut-in, as we call those who are too ill or frail to sit in a pew for an hour or make the weekly drive.

In the backyard, she almost fades into the background, unseen.

But I see her.

I know her name but not her story and sometimes when we walk by, I want to call out to her and ask how she is. Even though we’re neighbors, living on the same street, she doesn’t know me. And she might find it odd for me to call her by name and ask about her life. And I avoid standing out, being odd, whenever I can.

More often, she’s not in the backyard, which is when the sanctuary comes alive with squirrels, birds, even a duck or two.

She faithfully sets out corn cobs and fills feeders for the creatures who find refuge in her little corner of the world.

And I wonder, who will feed the birds and the squirrels when she’s gone?

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Part II

Her body is ravaged. For 12 years she has baffled doctors, healers. She is unclean. Without help. Without hope.

Desperate.

She hatches a plan.

If only she could get close enough, touch the hem of his robe, then maybe, perhaps, she’d be healed.

It was a long shot. Her only shot.

And if it didn’t work, she’d be no worse than she was now.

The crowd pressed in. She fought for position. She had one chance.

She reached for him, and her fingers grazed his cloak.

And she knew.

She was healed.

She’d meant to slip away, blend in. But shocked by the change she felt within, she couldn’t move.

“Who touched me?”

The man’s words sent panic through her. Was he angry? Maybe she could slip away yet.

But no. The crowds had closed in. And if she tried to force her way through, she would make a scene.

“Someone touched me.”

The man was adamant despite his friends trying to convince him otherwise.

She could deny it, like everyone else in the crowd.

But then he was looking at her, and she couldn’t deny it.

When the woman saw that she had not escaped notice, she came trembling and fell down before Him, and declared in the presence of all the people the reason why she had touched Him, and how she had been immediately healed.

“Your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

III

For most of my life, I’ve walked a narrow line between wanting to blend in and wanting to be noticed.

In grade school, on the bus, I mostly hoped to blend in and prayed–if I could have called it that back then–the bus bully would find someone else to pick on.

And in middle school, I desperately wanted the handsome jock in our class to notice me, not as the smart girl, but as a girl. I was drawn to stories in movies, books and songs, where the girl unnoticed becomes the noticed one. The one who had always been there but who had been passed over for something better.

Then in high school, I watched from a distance, once again hoping to blend in. Put your head down, do the work, come out unscathed. Don’t draw too much attention.

College–as it is for most people–was a fresh start. Yet I still found myself blending in. Flying under the radar. I wasn’t dramatic or loud or noteworthy. To this day, I still feel the need to remind people who I am, even if we shared a meaningful experience like a semester in England. (Hi, you probably don’t remember me but …)

Then, like the desperate woman who took a chance and reached out to touch Jesus’ cloak, He noticed me.

Or maybe I noticed that He noticed me.

I read Genesis, the story of creation, of a God so big He spoke the world into being, made something out of nothing. Yet the same God knows me personally, as David celebrates in Psalm 139.

You have searched me and you know me.

You are familiar with all my ways.

You knit me together in my mother’s womb.

Nothing escapes God’s notice. Not a dying woman feeding the wild animals. Not a desperate woman looking for a cure. Not a woman who doesn’t know who she is and hopes nobody learns her secret.

It is a scary thing to be noticed, sometimes.

Because the one noticing you might be like the bus bully, looking for a target.

Or the jock, looking for help with homework, nothing more.

But it’s scarier to believe no one notices you at all.

When you think no one notices, no one cares and that you don’t matter, hear this now: God sees you. He knows you. And He loves you.

Forgive me, Father, for all the people I’ve not seen, not noticed. Thank You that there is nowhere we can go that You don’t see. Help me to see what You see.

Amen.

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35 things I’ve learned by 35

I turned 35 on Saturday. This birthday has been bugging me all year. I don’t remember having a problem with my 30th birthday, but for some reason, adding that “5″ after the “3″ is messing with my head. I feel like I’m supposed to be old now. Or wise. Or accomplished. I don’t feel any of those things. But I’ve learned some important things in life. Here’s a list of 35 of them, in no particular order. (I was inspired by this post earlier this year.)

1. Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. And sometimes there’s no good explanation.
2. Even if you’re almost 30 and married to your best friend, motherhood will still scare the crap out of you. (And by “you” I mean “me.”)
3. I don’t have to like or believe all the same things as my friends to still be friends.
4. It’s better to hear the truth than believe a lie.
5. You can do everything right and follow all the rules and still be wrong.
6. Housework is an inescapable necessity, and it improves my mood.
7. I didn’t know how selfish I was until I got married and had children.
8. God will make you eat your words when you tell Him something is impossible.
9. Conflict is unavoidable. And sometimes it’s healthy. And helpful.
10. Control is an illusion. Just when I think I have something “under control,” my son rolls around in the aisle at church or my daughter throws a doll across the room when I ask her to put her pajamas on.
    

    His Easter finest

11. Apathy is just as (and maybe more) dangerous as hate.
12. I can’t save the world, but I can make better choices that have an impact on the world and the people who live in it.
13. Life moves fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. (Okay, I stole that one from Ferris Bueller. Still …)
14. I’ll do just about anything for a full night of sleep. (Especially after having kids.)
15. Just because I think I have something to say doesn’t mean I should say it.
16. One toilet for four people is not enough, especially if two of those people are recently potty-trained. Inevitably, they have to go potty at the EXACT SAME TIME and RIGHT NOW. Same holds true if anyone else dares to enter the bathroom to do “business.”
17. Life is always a good choice. Not just when it comes to the unborn.
18. The number of laundry baskets in your house should match the number of people in your house.
19. It’s better to ask a question, even if I think it makes me look stupid, than to assume I know something.
20. An introvert (I am one) needs extroverts for friends. I am blessed to have several who push me out of my introverted tendencies (in a good way).
21. Failing at something doesn’t make me a failure.
22. I still blush when I talk to the opposite sex, even if they’re teenage boys. And I fear I might become one of those old ladies who flirts with guys of all ages just to be embarrassing.
23. When you set out to write a list of 35 things you’ve learned in your lifetime, the list starts to read like a confessional.
24. Drinking coffee with my dad and talking to my mom while we wash dishes or take a walk are two of my favorite activities. (And I don’t do either nearly enough because of an 800-mile separation.)
25. I’m more task-oriented than people-oriented and learning to love people when they get “in the way” of my tasks is hard.
26. I’m likely to say something awkward when making small-talk because I think better with written words than spoken ones.
27. I’d rather take a risk and fail than not try at all.
28. What I think we needed for marriage (the stuff we registered for) is not what we really needed. My registry list would look completely different now after six years of marriage.
29. I am a writer. (Profound, right?) And no amount (big or small) of money, publication credits or blog followers will change that. It’s part of who I am. And it’s what I was made to do.
30. Whining and giving constructive criticism are not the same. I have a low tolerance for the former, which accomplished almost nothing, and a growing tolerance for the latter, which can make a difference for the better. And I appreciate even more those teachers from grade school who had a “no whining” policy in their classrooms. (P.S. If you’re an adult, I tolerate your whining even less than I do my children’s.)
31. Cooking a turkey is not as scary as I once thought it would be. I am now comfortable with all aspects of preparing and cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving or other meals. Ditto for a whole chicken. I have not, however, attempted to cook a live lobster or prepare anything that still has a head (fish, crawfish, etc.). Something to shoot for in the next 35 years.
32. It’s okay to cry. But I’ll still probably apologize for doing it, even it’s an appropriate response.
33. I take life and myself too seriously, but I love laugh-till-you-cry moments.
34. I love my husband more now than I did when we first started dating, and I can’t imagine how my love will deepen and change in the coming years.
35. I am an unfinished work.

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5 on Friday: Meaningful gifts I’ve received

My birthday is tomorrow. Which got me thinking about gifts. Not because I’m totally gift-focused because I’m not. Receiving gifts actually stresses me out a little bit because I’m not good at giving an instant reaction. My thanks is better expressed in how I use the gift than in the exact moment I receive it.

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Here are some memorable gifts I didn’t ask for that touched my heart. (Please don’t be offended if you’ve given me a gift and it’s not mentioned here. These are the first five that came to mind and they aren’t all birthday gifts. The danger of making a short list is leaving someone out.)

1. A pink Columbia brand fleece jacket. The first Christmas Phil and I celebrated as a couple, this was his gift. I remember how excited he was to give it to me, and it is still my go-to outerwear in spring, fall and sometimes winter. My husband is great at giving gifts. I could spend an entire post on the best gifts he’s given me, but I’d probably lose readers.

2. The Book of Common Prayer. A couple from church gifted this to us as we’ve expressed an interest and love for liturgy, the church calendar and the use of the lectionary. I have used this book almost daily for months, and it continues to touch my heart because it is a gift I would have never thought to ask for from people who haven’t known us long but were thoughtful enough to present us with a gift we will cherish.

3. An ice scraper and a spray-on window defroster for my car. In the early days of my relationship with Phil, we spent a lot of time at each other’s houses, often driving home in winter in the dark, when northern Illinois temperatures drop below freezing and leave frost on the windshield. One night, Phil’s brother and the woman who would become his wife, gave me this gift to ease the process of driving home in winter. It was especially meaningful because at the time, our relationship was not strong nor was I terribly kind or loving toward them. Over the years, that has changed and I’ve learned that they, too, are exceptional gift givers.

4. An all-expenses-paid trip to a writers conference in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I will forever remember the generosity of a couple from my hometown who saw an advertisement for this conference and felt led to pay  my way. I had never considered going to a writers conference. I was working as a journalist at the time with no concrete writing dreams beyond what I was doing. It was a stretching experience for me as I drove the whole way by myself, took in some sight-seeing on the way back and let God open my world to the opportunities in Christian publishing. It was a life-changer for me, and I consider it an investment that has yet to accomplish its full return.

5. A royal wedding tea cup. When Prince William and Kate Middleton got married, my English friend and pen pal sent me a tea cup with their pictures on it. I was having sort of a blah day when it arrived and I was so tickled because of the uniqueness of the gift.

This is a small slice of the meaningful gifts I’ve received over the years, and recalling them makes me feel blessed to have special people in my life. It also challenges me to take more notice of my loved ones and find gifts that would be meaningful to them.

How about you? What meaningful gifts have you received?

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Believe you can change the world: Review of A Dream So Big by Steve Peifer

If you aren’t in love with Africa and its people already, then reading A Dream So Big will break your heart for them and leave you challenged to make a difference, however big or small you’re able.

Steve Peifer didn’t want to go to Africa, but after the death of his 4-day-old son, God impressed upon his heart to make his wife’s dream come true. His wife Nancy’s dream was to serve in Africa.

The family spent a year as dorm parents at Rift Valley Academy in Kenya. It was a challenging time and a healing time and they would leave the country changed. Steve’s heart was pierced by the extreme needs of the people, and when he encountered a classroom of children lying on the floor, his whole world was changed. He asked the teacher why the kids were lying down.

“It is Thursday,” she said. “Most of the children haven’t eaten since Monday. If they sit up, they will faint.”

That was the turning point for Steve, and when the family returned to Kenya as full-time ministries, Steve began to act on a vision to alleviate hunger in Kenya.

A Dream So Big is full of humor as Steve recounts his attempts to learn Swahili and interact with the culture. It’s also an honest soul-baring account of his transformation. What started as an escape from grief turned into a lifelong mission.

The impact Steve has made on Kenya’s schools through lunch programs and computer centers is inspiring.

If you’ve ever wanted to change the world but didn’t think it was possible, read this book and believe.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of A Dream So Big from Zondervan through the Booksneeze program.

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When fiction speaks truth

The following quote is from a book I read this month and reviewed yesterday.

If we reach one person at a time, we’ll have done far more than just turning our backs with indifference or pretending there aren’t real lives at risk. There are women out there who want a better life but don’t know how to get it. Some of them are little more than trapped children who can’t find their way.

In the book, the lead character is trying to reach out to prostitutes who might want to leave that life and start new. She has secured a loan for a house, has moved into the neighborhood and has tried to befriend the women she wants to help. This quote is her defense to the man who loaned her the money.

Even though it’s from a work of fiction, its message struck me as relevant to many social justice causes today.

And it’s a reminder that for every “cause” out there, a real person with a real life is at risk. Hunger, sex trafficking, unsafe working conditions, homelessness, unfair wages, AIDS–all of these affect real people.

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People with faces, names, hopes and dreams.

I don’t want to forget that.

And I don’t want you to forget it either.

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When you can’t forget a face: DVD Review of Mother India

Global poverty is easy to ignore.

Until you learn its names and faces.

Mother India, a documentary releasing today, does just that, introducing viewers to a “family” of 25 orphans living near a train station in India. Filmmakers David Trotter and Shawn Scheinoha traveled to India for two weeks last year seeking to tell the story of life as an orphan in a country where an estimated 31 million children are considered orphans.

“Each of these young lives is much more than a statistic,” Trotter said. “Every one of them has a name, a face and a story.”

That’s what I found valuable about this documentary–the personalization of poverty. Because as Scheinoha added, “The bottom line is statistics go in one ear and out the other. People need to hear stories and see the reality of what it looks like for millions of Indian children who are orphaned.”

When you hear one girl describe how she was tricked into having sex for money, and you see the tears she sheds over her rescue, you can’t ignore the plight of the poor and orphaned.

When you listen as another girl describes how she lost two of her fingers because of her boyfriend’s jealousy, and how she still grieves the loss of a baby–”I cut myself when I remember him”–you can’t go back to the way things were.

These kids, whose experiences have aged them beyond their years, are escaping the daily pain through drug use, sharing needles and dying of HIV and AIDS. They barely “earn” enough money begging and washing the floor of the train to eat each day.

Take a look at the trailer for a preview of the film.

Sometimes, the scenes are too much, and I want to forget.

But how can you look away when you’ve seen too much?

The filmmakers found themselves faced with this question. Their intent was to document. But when they got to know the youngest members of this group–a 3-year-old and a 7-year-old, siblings–they asked what else they could do.

Mother India is a sobering reminder of how extreme poverty is in many parts of the world. It is also a call to action to provide help for India’s orphans.

This is no pleasure film, but it is worth your time (less than an hour). And it will melt your heart.

For more information, visit www.31million.org.

GIVEAWAY

Word Films, distributor of Mother India, is offering a copy to you. Leave a comment on this blog between now and noon (Eastern) Friday, April 26 for a chance to win. I will pick a winner using Random.org and Word will send a copy of the DVD to the winner.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of the Mother India DVD.

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How ‘release’ is changing me

I began this OneWord journey four months ago. You can read about what I learned in January and February in previous posts.

“You have set my feet in an open place.”

Psalm 31:8

At times, in my life, I feel trapped. Unable to move beyond the boundaries I, or others, have set for me. I want to escape but don’t see a way out. And I don’t always know what it is I’m trying to escape.

But in the months since adopting “release” as my OneWord for the year, I have felt freedom like never before.

“Release” has  become more than a word to me.

It is the words of the psalmist to his Lord, “You have set my feet in an open place.”

An open place where I can run or sit or look up at the sky. Where I can feel the sun on me and see for miles.

This is how I feel four months after hearing God whisper, “Let go” when I needed a word for the year.

It is seemingly small decisions.

Like cleaning out my e-mail inbox so I no longer have 300 unread messages. (Let it go, Lisa. If you didn’t read the blog posts the first time, you aren’t going to read them now.) And unsubscribing to lists I’m no longer interested in. And saying “no” when I can’t do the task someone asks of me.)

How did I not know there was freedom in saying “no”?

It is lines from a poem from a brother in ministry that speaks to my writing and the whole of my life.

What if, writing, I always seem to leave

Some better thing, or better way, behind,

Why should I therefore fret at all, or grieve!

The worse I drop, that I the better find;

The best is only in thy perfect mind.

Fallen threads I will not search for–I will weave.

Who makes the mill-wheel backward strike to grind! – George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul

I will weave. These words embedded in my soul when I read them. I’ll stop looking for something better and I will do the thing I’m called to do.

It is quotes on social media that affirm the power of letting go.

“You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.”
― C. JoyBell C.

And,

“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.”
― Ann Landers

It is song lyrics from reluctant prophets like Mumford & Sons, particularly “I Will Wait.”

I’m drawn to these words: “a tethered mind freed from the lies” and “now in some way shake the excess.”

It is this prayer to surrender everything I have to God: “We release from our hands to Yours the things and people we have held too tightly.” (The Power of a Praying Wife devotional by Stormie Omartian).

It is the very difficult decision to let a dream die. To weep and wail and feel your guts being ripped out because you have believed that this thing is the ONLY thing God has for you.

It is choosing to embrace the wilderness because it might actually be where you live.

It is becoming indifferent in a good way. “This is a state of wide-openness to God in which I am free from undue attachment to any particular outcome and I am capable of relinquishing whatever might keep me from choosing for love.” (Sacred Rhythms, Ruth Haley Barton, 119)

It is the peace that settles afterwards. Like dropping a pair of heavy bags you’ve been lugging through life and melting into the couch.

With “release” comes “rest” and “relief.”

And this realization that Jesus meant what he said.

If you lose your life for His sake, you will find it.

By letting go, I have found life.

One word.

It seemed so simple.

I suspect I have much more to learn.

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5 on Friday: More blogs I read regularly

After my initial blogs I read regularly post, I discovered five more blogs I frequent. Here they are:

1. Dr. Kelly Flanagan, a licensed clinical therapist who writes about redeeming all areas of life for wholeness.
2. Joel Kime, who offers thought-provoking questions related to sermons at Faith Church in Lancaster, Pa.
3. The Green Grandma, who has opened my eyes to a new way of living that is healthy and environmentally friendly. Lots of giveaways and tips for moms and babies, too.
4. Mandy Masala, where my friend and college roommate Amanda writes about learning to cook Indian food the way her husband likes it. She inspires me to try new food!
5. Scenes of Life, where Dave Schroeder, a college friend, writes about movies, writing, books, among other inspiring topics. I appreciate his take on these topics.

Who are you reading online these days? Share your recommendations!

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Embracing uncomfortable: Review of Wrecked by Jeff Goins

The subtitle to Jeff Goins’ book Wrecked sounds like the sort of thing you’d want to avoid: “When a broken world slams into your comfortable life.”

And, I’ll admit, this was not an easy book to read. Not because the writing is confusing or the structure unclear.

No, Wrecked is a book that lives up to its name.

If you aren’t wrecked already when you read it, you will be. But don’t let that scare you away.

Goins offers stories and practical life advice for how to embrace what makes us most uncomfortable and live a life of radical obedience, even when the “adventure” looks more like “mundane.” Being wrecked means we’ve encountered something outside of our comfort zone and have made a choice to not go back to the way things were.

I’m afraid I’m not doing the book justice. When I read a book these days, I dog-ear the pages where I’ve read something that resonates. Almost every other page in Wrecked is dog-eared. Goins is a gifted storyteller, and his advice sounds more like gentle yet challenging encouragement from someone who’s traveled the road already than mandates from someone without a clue what they’re talking about.

To be wrecked begins with an experience that pulls you out of your comfort zone and self-centeredness, whether you want it to or not. … Being wrecked means everything you believe–everything you know about yourself, your world, and your destiny–is now in question. (34-35)

Before reading this book, my life got wrecked by a change in circumstances–financial, emotional, spiritual. All of it. Over time I’ve wondered if this is a good thing. Goins’ book offers stories that assure me I’m not alone and that even when it’s painful, being wrecked has the potential to foster deep change.

But it’s not enough to be wrecked. It’s not enough to see and walk away. Goins challenges us to commit to work that affirms what wrecked us in the first place.

Change always happens when you come down from the clouds and deal with the messiness of life. When you turn a mission trip into a lifestyle. … Real transformation happens when you commit. (92)

Although Goins draws from missions experiences and stories, this book is for anyone called to something by God. As a wife/stay-at-home mom/writer, I found the principles and stories in Wrecked meaningful and applicable to my situation.

It’s a small book, less than 200 pages, but each chapter is full of life-giving truth. I judged the book by its length, thinking I could breeze through it. Instead, I found myself reading a few pages and setting it down for a couple of days. In the places where I’d been wrecked already and thought I had moved past, I found the book wrecking me all over again, giving me a gentle nudge to take another step out of the comfortable life.

Even now as I revisit the pages I marked, I find myself lifted by the words.

If you’ve had an experience (a mission trip, a major life change, an encounter with poverty) that has wrecked you and you don’t know what to do now, this book is for you.

If you’re looking for your life’s calling, this book can guide you in finding it.

It would be good reading for high school and college grads who want to live the story God has for them.

As Michael Hyatt says in the book’s foreword, Wrecked “is not designed to make you feel overwhelmed by the world’s problems. Nor is it designed to make you feel guilty for not doing enough. No, it’s more than this. It is an invitation to lead a wrecked life–one that is shaken up but transformed by confronting the world’s most difficult challenges. It’s about living the life we are so often afraid to live. … It’s about stepping into the pain and discovering fulfillment in the most unlikely places.”

You’ve been invited to be wrecked.

The choice, now, is yours.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Wrecked from Moody Publishers.

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