Nicole K. Twedt

Being Brave When Life Is Hard

Book Review: Church of the Small Things

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Just about every Saturday morning last fall, I’d grab one of those double-insulated coffee mugs filled to the brim with Tony’s French Royale dark roast and Organic Valley dairy-free creamer (don’t forget the creamer).  Next, I’d slip my cold feet into a pair of black floral-print rain boots. (I’ve heard them described on the Sorta Awesome Podcast as moody floral.)  My five-year-old daughter, Lauren, and I would then dash off to ballet class, which was held, of course, at the exact same time as big brother’s soccer game.  As soon as ballet was over, we’d race to the small bathroom between the dance studio and a dential office, where I’d attempt to get Lauren out of her pink leotard and tights in a timely manner.  If we were lucky, the handicapped stall would be available for us to privately trade pink dance slippers for Hello Kitty rubber boots.  When we were through changing, I’d grab Lauren’s hand and, together, we’d bolt down the narrow staircase to the parking lot where our Honda Odyssey was waiting to whisk us off to the soccer field at the community church on the other side of town.

I’m exhausted just writing about it.

Let’s face it: Life is busy, really really busy.  And time isn’t slowing down. That’s why I fully appreciate the book Church of the Small Things: The Million Little Pieces That Make Up a Life by Melanie Shankle, which releases today.

I received an advance copy of Church of the Small Things as part of Melanie’s launch team in exchange for an honest review.  The bright pink book was left on my front porch by the UPS guy during Lauren’s family birthday party, back in July.  I’ve looked forward to talking about it with you ever since.

Melanie Shankle is a modern day Erma Bombeck with a little bit of sarcasm and a better sense of style.

Really, she is.  Chapters such as Forty Is Not the New Thirty, How Walmart and a Frito Pie Made all the Difference, and Autocorrect Is the Devil left me howling with laughter and tender with nostalgia.

What I appreciate most about Church of the Small Things, however, is it helped me see the bigger picture.  Melanie reminds me that the little things in life are actually the big things.  She reminds me to see life as a series of stories worth sharing, worth savoring.  All because there’s goodness, so much goodness, to be found along the way.

According to Church of the Small Things, it’s not about having the latest and greatest.  Oh no, Melanie reminds me that a good life is made up of a thousand trips to Costco and the grocery store.  It’s about movie nights and the little dog who searches in vain to find the perfect lap among the five of us.  It’s about attending Back to School Nights and Girl Scout ceremonies.  It’s about cheering for Steven in the pouring rain and helping our little girl change out of her pink leotard in a bathroom stall next to the dental office.  It’s about clapping for my big girl when she plays the second verse of a song on her recorder that I kinda-sorta recognize. (Yankee Doodle?) And it’s about laughter, lots and lots of laughter.

Consider ordering yourself a copy of Church of the Small Things by Melanie Shankle.  Who doesn’t, after all, need a gentle reminder to thank God for the little pieces that make up a life?  You know, the tender moments, the church of the small things.

Book Review: Shalom Sistas

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Today is October 3, which means it’s book release day.  It’s time for me to finally write the review I’ve been dreading since the end of May when I downloaded an advance digital copy of Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World by Osheta Moore to the Kindle app on my ancient iPad 2.

Let’s back up a bit.

On the day of the download, I didn’t waste time posting the above picture from Instagram onto Facebook to announce to the world, or at least to all my Facebook friends and Instagram followers, that I was part of Osheta’s Moore’s launch team for her very first book.  Shalom Sistas was the first launch team I was part of.  I was stoked.  So much so that I hinted at the notion that Shalom Sistas was going to be a profound read.  I’d barely begun the book, truth be told; yet I was enthusiastic about its message from the start.  I wanted to tell all my friends that they, too, should give Osheta and her book a chance, a must-read for everyone.  I remember joking that it was rare of me to savor a book but I was taking my time with this one.  You might not know this about me, but I tend to plow through books like a summer fling.  Not that I’m into summer flings, or spring flings for that matter.  I’m not that kind of gal.  I’m just a girl who loves being lost in the wonderment of a good book.

Unwilling or unable to put it down wasn’t the case with Shalom Sistas.

Hear me out.  (because I’m for the book, not against it).  It took an entire summer and into the first part of fall for me to reach the final pages of Shalom Sistas. Certainly, it wasn’t for lack of love for Osheta Moore and all her book stands for.  Oh, no.  I deeply respect Osheta.  She’s a champion peacemaker and a superb storyteller.  And she’s funny, very very funny.

Osheta being funny.

The truth is, I just didn’t have it in me to breeze through Shalom Sistas if I truly planned on heeding its message.  I needed the luxury of time to let Osheta’s words properly marinate the deepest of deep parts of my soul in a manner that would allow me to fully process the manifesto points of shalom and make way for a new way of living and thinking.

Are you wondering why I’m avoiding my review of Shalom Sistas when I wholeheartedly stand behind its message?

It’s not that simple.

I keep asking myself one question: who am I?  Who am I to write about practicing shalom and building bridges?  Who am I to speak against racism and injustice, particularly black lives and how they matter?

I’m embarrassed to say that before Shalom Sistas, I would’ve come back with,  “Of course black lives matter, all lives matter,” which is true but isn’t the point.  It isn’t the point because it misses the point.  You see, I’m finding myself in a unique place, a humble place where I can admit I was wrong. Also, through Shalom Sistas I’m beginning to see the plight of persons of color through new lenses.  I’ll never truly understand, I can’t, I’m not black, but I’m trying really hard to gain a fresh perspective.  I hate to say it, but I’m more aware of privilege than I was before.  And it’s an awkward place to be.  I’d kinda like to remove these new lenses, but can’t; which is why Shalom Sistas is a must-read, and why it makes me so darn uncomfortable.

About privilege, otherwise known as the elephant in the room that no one talks about but can’t be ignored.  I used to say that I wasn’t privileged.  I mean, really, I’m not wealthy, and I’ve walked through some hard times.  I’m not immune to grief and brokenness, and heartache. As I read through Shalom Sistas, I began to see, perhaps for the first time, that no matter how difficult the road I’ve walked, it’s still a life of privilege simply because I’m white.  And middle class.  Before the book, I didn’t recognize my privilege and my responsibility to practice shalom in this brokenhearted world.

And then I remembered what my cousin posted on Facebook shortly after the atrocities that happened in Charolottesville, VA.  Regarding Charlottesville, and racism in general, Jimmy said it best, “…it’s especially important for people who look like me (straight, white men) to speak up.”

Or in my case, straight, white, middle class women pushing forty.

I, too, have a voice.

I, too, am a Shalom Sista.

Even without my hair and make-up done, I’m a Shalom Sista.

I am a Shalom Sista.  I, too, am invited, beloved, am enough, will see beauty, will rest, will choose subversive joy, will tell better stories, will serve before I speak, will build bridges, not walls.  I will choose ordinary acts of peace.  I will be a peacemaker, not a peacekeeper.  In other words, I will live out a life of shalom.  But it’s a process, y’all, it’s a process, especially the bit about being a peacemaker, not a peacekeeper. I’m still working on that one.  I’m counting on my love of Christ, more importantly, his deep love for me, to pave the way.

By the way, I didn’t come up with these points on my own.  They’re part of the of Shalom Sistas manifesto.  Osheta discusses each manifesto point in great detail in her book, it’s what I’ve been chewing on over the last several months.

As for this nontraditional book review, the one I’ve been thinking about in my head, but dreading to write, since the afternoon when Osheta’s baby materialized on my ancient iPad.  Well, there’s so much more for me to say about Shalom Sistas.  But I have a feeling you’ll need to read it for yourself.  Go on, I dare you.

N.

Weekend Roundup, September 30, 2017: Birthday Edition

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Happy fall, y’all.

The y’all is a nod to my mom who turned sixty-five on Thursday.  (Happy birthday mom!) She may be sixty-five, but she’ll always be a fresh-faced and bright-eyed girl from Wichita, Kansas.

Photo by Nikhita Singhal on Unsplash

It’s my personal theory that sixty-five is the new forty, anyway.  Minus a bum knee, I think she’d agree.  We just got back from mom and Dave’s house where we had ourselves a little birthday shindig, complete with pizza and cake.  Actually, mom, Dave and Greg had chocolate truffle cake.  The kids and I had Olivia Superfree cookie dough cupcakes that are basically free from all the major allergens and flavor.  That was a joke.  I’ve been abstaining from gluten and dairy for so long that the allergen-free cupcakes are nothing short of divine, even if a little stale. I may have heard angels singing.

I’m rambling.  I need to keep this Weekend Roundup short and to the point.

But short and to the point isn’t my specialty.  I prefer long and drawn out.  It takes at least 1,000 words before I have a sense of where I’m headed, of where I’m going.

Speaking of rambling, in my last Weekend Roundup I got swept away describing my whimsical bird mug that matches Kate’s.  So much so that I forgot to link to Kate’s essay.  I was only supposed to mention the matchy-matchy bird mugs as a way to introduce Kate’s essay.  My bad.  I blame ADHD.  And the stomach bug.

Here we go again with the essay.  Before I get to it, you’ll remember that I stole a screen shot of Kate’s mug from Instagram but decided it wasn’t Kosher to do so.  I deleted everything from my photo library because that’s what rule followers do.  But in the end Kate made an honest woman out of me.  She commented on a Facebook post and gave me permission to use the screenshot of her picture after all.

Photo by Kate Laymon on Instagram. Screenshot by me.

Anyway, let’s talk about Kate’s essay.  Kate writes about how she and her husband said goodbye to weekend fights. I wish I’d know Kate when the kids were younger.  Greg and I could have used the encouragement found in How My Husband & I Stopped Fighting on the Weekends. Now that the kids are older, weekends are the best.  Spoiler: it’s because we don’t have babies, toddler or preschoolers in the house.

But we do have elementary age kiddos, three of them.  And one happens to be a highly-sensitive tween who wears her heart on her sleeve.  Vanessa Hunt featured a hilarious post on At the Picket Fence about the things no one tells you about parenting teenagers. Swoon! It really is hysterical. We could all use a good laugh these days, don’t you think?  Those of you from my old church, you need to know that I’m talking about a different Vanessa Hunt than the one we know.  You can read new Vanessa’s work here.  If you’re curious, the other Vanessa can be found here.  They’re both wonderful.

This next essay will appeal to mamas of littles and bigs alike.  As a mama of three, I more than appreciate Anna Burgess’ take on helping kids develop their own faith in God.  Because, let’s face it, we can’t do it for them.  If you’re a parent, go ahead and check out Anna’s post right about now.  I’ll wait for you.

Switching gears.

Please take a moment to read another one of Erin Whitmer’s essays.  You’ll remember her from the Weekend Roundup I finally got around to publishing on Monday.  I’m probably taking everything out of context; but Erin’s essay reminds me of the verses in 1 Kings 19 about Elijah seeking God on the mountain. Elijah searched for God in the mighty windstorm but God was not in the wind.  Next Elijah searched for God in the earthquake.  But, you guessed it, that’s not where God showed up.  Again, Elijah looked for God in the fire.  Surprise, surprise, God wasn’t in the fire.  Instead, our loving Father came to Elijiah in a gentle whisper, which leads me back to Erin’s essay.  Do you Hide What God Wants to Reveal? is about learning how God reveals wisdom and truth in the everyday.  I think it’s easy to miss God when we look for him only in the grand and glorious moments–and he’s certainly there.   But if we’re only looking for him in mighty ways, we’ll miss him in the mundane.  I don’t mean to sound holier-than-thou but I see God in many places.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, adult ADHD is both a blessing and a curse, but mostly a blessing for it leads me back to him in random moments and random connections.

I’m just going to come out and say it: I’m nervous to share the following words by Caroline Saunders.  Caroline was featured on Sadie Robertson’s website in March.  I think I’m too old to know about Sadie Robertson, but here you go.  Except Sadie’s name sounds familiar.  I want to say from an interview on The Happy Hour With Jamie Ivey, but maybe not.  By the way, if I ever get bored of Weekend Roundups (again, ADHD), then without a doubt, I’ll end up putting together some sort of Weekly Podcast Roundup.  Now that would be fun.  How I love me a good podcast;.enough to use poor grammar.

But the following post is from a talk by Caroline Saunders, not Sadie.  I’m cringing as I type this because I’m about to share a purity talk for high school and college students.  Yep, I’m gonna linky-link to a purity talk.  I dare you to read about it here.  I’m just going to come out and say it: I think the church gets a bad rap when it comes to purity talks, and rightly so.  Telling woman they are damaged goods and such isn’t cool.  Yet ignoring what the Bible has to say about sex other than “don’t do it” is also a big no-no in my book.  It’s a tricky balance.  Certainly, there are repercussions for risky behavior.  But here’s the thing, God is in the business of redeeming; it’s what he does best.  Also, I appreciate the way Caroline doesn’t shy away from addressing the guys in the crowd.  Anyway, in the next few days you’ll probably find me poking around Caroline’s blog at writercaroline.com.  Caroline’s voice is unique.  She doesn’t beat around the bush when it comes to biblical truths; but she’s funny, very very funny.

The next-to-last essay of the last day of September is about steps we can take when anxiety rears its ugly head.  I found the bullet points at the end of the article extremely helpful, and I’m not a bullet point kind of girl.  It sounds too much like the Bullet Journal, which is most definitely not for me.  It’s as if anxiety is the latest buzz word.  So many in my close circle are living with it, including myself and my favorite little boy.  Gosh, even our dog has anxiety.  I’ve heard it said that if you’re in the market for a Ford, then all you’ll see are Fords, Fords, Fords, everywhere you go.  I’m a Honda gal through and through, but that’s besides the point.  Anyway, go check out Reversing the Anxiety Tornado by J. J. Gutierrez,  It’s a must-read for the brave one who struggles with anxiety.  Yes, the brave one.  You’d better believe you are brave if you’re living life with anxiety. In fact, you are a living, breathing example of someone who is being brave when life is hard.  You can find J.J.’s essay, complete with bullet points here.

Ramblings aside, I just can’t stop myself from giving you one final essay.  I mean, really, why stop at 1,000 words if you can possibly squeeze in 1,500? No, I promise to stop before then.  This time.  Anwhoo, Bethany Barendregt wrote a particularly moving piece called For the Late-Blooming Souls.  I savored each and every word of this thoughtful reflection.  Yes to this! Story of my life, right here!  How I love quiet and stillness, how I thrive in slowness.  I don’t think my kids got the e-mail.

In just a little less than fifteen minutes it will be the first of October.  I can hardly believe it.  As I said before, happy fall, y’all!

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, especially Sunday.  Savor its slowness.  Rest up, dear ones.  See you soon.

N.

P.S. Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear mom

Happy birthday to you!