Tag Archives: sacred mundane

At the writer’s conference last weekend, Dan Merchant said usually none of his writing makes sense until the 5th draft. I almost fell out of my chair. FIFTH draft? Well, so be it. I am writing and re-writing my attempts at my first (real) book, Sacred Mundane: A holy revolution for ordinary days. I know you’re not supposed to share your book with people until it’s published, but why? I hope ya’ll will be part of the journey, part of creating with me, not only consumers of the finished product. So here it is, friends. A draft. The Introduction:

All the dishtowels smell.  Try as I may to will myself just to not smell my hands afterward, I cannot help it.  Each time I dry I instinctively lift my hands and there it is again—that sickening mildew-mustiness, the unfortunate result of one domestic mis-step, that of waiting one day too long to launder the kitchen towels. It’s weeks and many washes later. How could they still smell this bad? The towels are clearly punishing me. Just as those single socks sneak off, unmatched, and the chicken juice deliberately oozes all over the fresh spinach and the little one willfully wakes far too early and steals the only sacred silent moments to my name. I stack up all my grievances and settle in swiftly to my role as victim-SAHM, just as my pastor-husband, Jeff, returns from his early-morning men’s meeting.

I greet him with this: “May I burn the kitchen towels?”

He (wisely) chooses to ignore my question. Instead: “How was your morning?”

I don’t say: “Well, while you were off making disciples of all nations I was reading (for the 7^th time) the encyclopedia entry on red-kneed tarantulas upside-down from across the counter while making oatmeal and drying my hands on my pants because all the towels hate me.  I was wiping Heidi’s bottom with a napkin because we ran out of toilet paper (another conspiracy) despite the fact that I bought 48 rolls last month. I was scraping bright blue bubble-gum flavored toothpaste off the bathroom counter and advising against wearing a tutu with flip-flops out to Oma & Papa’s today since it’s 40-degrees. Then I was drying the tears that inevitably followed that advice. I was trying not to overthink the distance I feel from a certain friend, and really trying to rejoice that my agent signed two more book deals today … with other authors. Thanks, Facebook, for informing me of this happy news.”

Instead: “It was fine.”

Thankfully, a decade of marriage has taught him to read between the “fines” (sorry, atrocious joke), so he pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. He is my ultimate safe-place, where I can rejoice in victory uninhibitedly, confess sin unashamedly, and be myself unapologetically.

Reader, right off the bat I will tell you: My prayer is that this book provides a safe-place for you to be, discover, grow, and change. I will make every earnest attempt to be honest with you, if you will be honest too. I will resist the urge to paint myself perfect, as tempting as it is, to tell you what to do by telling you only the good I do.  I will not display my highlight reel to compare with your backstage scene. The truth is, I am often a mess. There are days I glide gloriously, effortlessly embracing the sacred in the midst of the mundane, and there are days I limp pathetically, cursing dishtowels and imagining inanimate objects and innocent children conspiring against me.

You too?

The good news in all this: There is a holy revolution for ordinary days. And it has been growing in my heart for nearly 15 years, and although I am not what I will be someday, I’m not what I once was and for that I rejoice. Jesus Christ is changing me from the inside out, and there is truth and beauty and miraculous power available for us, to captivate our hearts and set us free.  There is a mountain with a heavenly vantage point, an earthen spot so elevated above the profane that we can see all of life as it truly is: Sacred. And while I’m not standing at the peak of the mountain yet, I’ve gone far enough to glimpse its beauty from afar, and it’s worth stopping to call back, “Come! Come with me! Let’s join hands and scale the mountain together!”  So I write this book not as an expert, having arrived, but as a sacred scout of sorts, who has seen a bit of the seamless life of wholeness and thinks it’s worth going this way together.

Will you join me?

The only requirements are earnestness and honesty. Let’s not be silly in our search for the sacred. If you want God, come with me. If you only want your idea of God, please pass this book to someone else.  Honest seekers are always allowed. If you are an expert, you will likely not find this book much help. The truths we explore will be simple—the deepest ones usually are.  The revolution comes not in discovering something new but in rising above all that blinds and binds to embrace the truth that sets us free: Everything matters.

I’ll be tempted to lie to you, I know that.  I’ll be tempted to make myself look better than I really am. I’ll be tempted to try and write a cool book instead of simply sharing my story. I’ll be tempted to point to me instead of Him. You’ll be tempted to dismiss ideas presented here, thinking they are too simple.  You’ll be tempted to skim the scripture-passages (I do it too) because you’ve read them before. You’ll be tempted to skip the stop-and-pray portions because we’re accustomed to consuming words and not receiving them.

Let’s receive, shall we? Let’s become little children and let down our guards and follow Him together in this holy revolution for ordinary days.

Are you ready? Good. I’ll be there in a minute; first I need to go burn some towels.

{Thanks for reading.}