Shalom

Howdy Folks!

It’s been a busy week on the blog. I actually posted something (actually two somethings) other than a Weekend Roundup. Crazy. Something else that’s crazy: cray-cray. Apparently it’s a word now. It means crazy. Did you know this? I heard cray-cray used for the first time last weekend at my mom’s sixty-fifth birthday bash. Don’t even ask. By the way, when I say “birthday bash” I’m referring to a quiet dinner with just the five of us and Mom and Dave. And when I say quiet, I mean not quiet at all for three reasons: Emily, Steven and Lauren. Back to cray-cray. I don’t even know how to properly spell it. Then again, “properly”could never apply to such a word, at least not in my book. But what do I know?

Anyway, I’ve had the joy and privilege of being part of several book launch teams this summer and into fall. In fact, two of my book reviews went live earlier this week. I’m working on completing the third of four. (Jody’s book–so exciting!) I want to spend some more time with Jody’s review because it’s especially dear to me, though the short and sweet version can be found on Amazon under the pen name NKT because I’m clever that way. But I’m afraid “I liked it” and “You should buy it” isn’t going to cut it around here. I’m too long-winded for that. I’ll get my act together, hopefully sooner than later, and hit publish in a few days (or more). Hint: Jody’s book is a refreshing little nugget of truth about a certain holiday that formerly threw me into panic mode faster than you could say Ho Ho Ho.

If I haven’t bored you to death with all this book talk, you can read my review of Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World by Osheta Moore here. I feel like an idiot when I say sistas instead of sisters, but I’m a Shalom Sista through and through. You may recognize Osheta from her blog Shalom in the City or her podcast, also called Shalom Sistas. Gals (and guys?) this one totally changed me. And let’s not forget Melanie Shankle’s Church of the Small Things: A Million Little Pieces That Make Up a Life, which is the other book I talked about. Here it is. Melanie’s book is positively hilarious, and tender to boot. You may have heard about Melanie from, I don’t know, say one of her three previous New York Times Bestsellers. She also writes at The Big Mama Blog and has a podcast with the charming Sophie Hudson called The Big Boo Cast, which is about absolutely nothing but I cannot stop listening to it. How else would I know about the wonders of Organic Rose Hip Oil as a moisturizer, booties, the next must-see show on Netflix and college football? Yes, you heard me right: college football. Seriously, I hate football but I want to listen to Sophie and Melanie talk about it. I’ve even found myself thinking about cheering for the Huskies this fall. But not really, because this is me we’re talking about. Anyway, you could find both books on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Christianbook.com. Oh, and Melanie’s book can also be found at Target. I’m not going to bother with all the linky-links. After all, that’s what our dear friend Google is for.

OK, enough about books. Here’s this week’s roundup. If you’re new around here, the Weekend Roundup is what happens when I pull from the work of fellow Hope*Writers and showcase them on this little writing spot on the web, which sounds lovelier than saying that I feature them on my blog. Also, Weekend Roundups don’t always happen on the weekend. Because, you know, life happens.

First off, here’s the lovely Caroline Saunders. I hate to say it because it’s such a cliché and all, but this one made me LOL. You may remember Caroline, because you got to meet her for the first time in last week’s Weekend Roundup. This is the first of a new series from Caroline about her pastor husband, who happens to be a sort of Brad Pitt-Aaron Rodgers lookalike. It’s also about the f-bomb and ice cream. I don’t know about you, but after the news of Sunday night’s massacre in Las Vegas, I needed a good laugh. You can read Caroline’s piece here. Have fun with it.

Speaking of the horrors that happened over the weekend, please read this one by Leigh Sain. I didn’t want to read it at first since it’s called Why We Have to Talk to Our Kids About Las Vegas, but I’m so glad I did. This world is a dark place, but to God be the glory. That is all.

I don’t remember where I was or what I was doing, (though I’m pretty sure I was listening to a podcast), when the conversation shifted and the question was asked: “What does it really sound like when women and men of faith say things like, “I’m praying for you,” or “I’ll pray about that.” Pie in the sky, I’ll tell you, that’s what it sounds like. That’s why I loved Shauna Lettellier’s reflection about prayer the time she spent with her grandparents before freshman year. Excellent storytelling, Shauna, excellent. Here ya go. I’ve linked to Shauna’s work before, a few weeks back I believe. I’m too tired to find it now.

What would a Weekend Roundup be without me talking about anxiety or sharing something by Elli Johnson of The Hippo Chronicles? I linked to something similar last week, but this is a quick, yet thoroughly helpful, read. Whether it was the Holy Spirit’s prompting, or my own dumb luck, I’ve discovered that many of the same things help me through a funk or when I’m feeling particularly overwhelmed, along with writing and playing the piano. I just didn’t put two-and-two together until I read Elli’s list. If nothing else, this summer I learned that walking Chloe (while taking deep breaths) is not only good for my body, but also good for my soul. By the way, I’ve been able to leave Chloe’s bags of carrots behind twice in a row! If you have no idea what I’m talking about, check out this old post from July.

I originally concluded this Weekend Roundup with a prayer from me to you. However, my clumsy fingers bumped the mouse or something, because now it’s gone baby, gone. It went something like this: May God bless you and keep you this weekend and always. May he surprise you with something new about himself. May you see him in unexpected places. May he blow you away, time and again, with his wild love for you. He’s crazy about you, I hope you know it. Amen and Amen.

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.

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.