Category: Guest posts

Learning to be me

Today it is my pleasure to welcome Melissa Ohden to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. She has written about her own personal story in You Carried Me; here shares how she has learned to take of her mask and be who she was created to be.

In Life, the Truth and Being Free, author Steve Maraboli states, “Live authentically. Why would you continue to compromise something that’s beautiful to create something that is fake?” I would add to this that scripture is clear about authenticity. For example, take Ephesians 4:22-24, in which believers are called, “to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.”

Being authentic means more than just taking up a cause, “being you” or moral relativism and the like. It’s about being honest with the world about who God made you to be, what He’s done in your life, and what He’s called you to share and do. Being authentic is beautiful, because it’s how God calls us to live. Why would we project something else to the world that’s fake, when what He makes is beautiful?

I am an abortion survivor and, although I don’t believe God originally wrote this storyline in my life, because He’s the author and creator of life, I am so thankful that this is the story He’s written in my life. This is who God made me to be! Although I’m so much more than just a survivor of a failed saline infusion abortion, the reality is that this is how I was born into this world, and this very experience has shaped who I am, my career path, my mental, emotional and physical health, my relationships with others, my relationship with God and, although it happened 41 years ago, it still continues to affect my life today.  

Although most people won’t ever know what it’s like to be an abortion survivor, we all know what it’s like to have a secret, to have an experience or life story that we feel ashamed or embarrassed about, maybe even fearful of others knowing.

That’s how a mask first gets placed on, in which you cover your authentic self, your true identity, your experiences and stories that make you uniquely you, and reflect someone else to the world. 

Maybe it’s sin you’re masking, maybe it’s a painful experience you’ve had that’s deeply shaped your life, maybe it’s your belief in God and who He made you to be that you’re trying to keep under cover.

Our world certainly reinforces this, especially when it comes to being affected by abortion in a negative way and even when it comes to being a believer and follower of Christ. Our culture communicates that we should wear a mask to cover our authentic self that may challenge it, that may make others uncomfortable. My very existence makes people uncomfortable! And it made me uncomfortable to know that years ago.
Our individual stories may look different underneath, but our masks often look surprisingly similar:

The woman who has it all together. Perfectly made up. Slaying it at work. Instagram-perfect home, marriage or dating relationship, and children. That’s a common mask.

Maybe you’re the one whose mask communicates that you don’t need anyone, you don’t care about anything. You’re aloof and could care less about the world. You don’t need anyone or anything. You’re a woman who stands alone. You don’t need God.

Or maybe you’re the woman who’s always happy. Sad, anxious, depressed? Considered ending your life because you don’t see any meaning or purpose in it? No, never you! You’re okay. You’re more than okay! You’re always happy!

There are so many different masks that we wear,and even though those around us may not realise it, I think deep down, each of us know when we’re wearing them, when we’re covering up our authenticity. I think that as women, we can also innately sense when someone else is wearing a mask, too.

 What was my mask, you may be wondering? Mine was the picture of perfection: “high achieving, people pleasing, must earn people’s love and respect and never show people my hurt”. My mask was beautiful, and firmly covered the truth about who I was.

At the heart of the matter, I was afraid of who I was, of how people would react to my story or treat me when they learned of it. The few times that I had told people my story privately after I found out about it at the age of 14 hadn’t gone well. Although close friends and classmates were supportive, others expressed their pity for me, coupled in tandem with their disdain for my personal beliefs about abortion, and even their questions about the credibility of my life story. 

The more I shared my story and people responded in that manner, the more my mask glued itself on. Maybe you can relate to that. Our masks may first be placed accidentally, but over time, they become purposely placed. We feel like we need to wear them, we must wear them, in order to survive. 

I knew God alone spared my life from abortion and I was so deeply grateful for all He’s done in my life, but I was so affected by our greater culture’s perception of me, so overcome with fear and shame, that by wearing that mask, I was holding back not only the truth about myself, but the truth about God.

Let’s think for a minute about what makes God who He is. He’s the most authentic example for us to follow. He’s merciful, His love is unfailing, He never changes. As God spoke to Moses, He is “I am”. We never have to question who He is, because we know. He never changes. God’s authenticity then bears fruit in us. Through His authenticity, we trust in Him, we love Him, we praise Him, we are confident in Him and His plans for us. Just as His authenticity bears those fruits, we reciprocate likewise in this world when we’re being our authentic selves.

Research literature tells us that living authentically, unmasked, is the key to wellbeing, purpose and even peace. Or, as scripture says, being honest about who God made us to be and what He’s done in our lives bears these fruits. While there may be some twists and turns along the way, when you live as who you really are, you find not only freedom and strength, but also the joy of giving your true talents to the world.

But how do you even do this? Where do you start, when you’ve worn the mask that hides your genuine self for years or even decades – when fear is holding you back from sharing your most authentic, but likely most complicated or painful pieces of your life? How do you share your faith with the world? How do you begin to pry that mask off?

Personally, it started by looking, honestly, at a couple of statements and their impact on me:

If you reallyknew me, you’d know this: ______. 
What is that one thing that most people don’t know about you that you’ve kept hidden? What is it that you’ve experienced that makes you, “you?”

If you really knew me, I think you would ____ me because of this.  
(Love me, hate me, judge me, not respect me as much, you wouldn’t want to be my friend, you’d feel sorry for me, etc).

Melissa’s book is available now, and is published by Lion Hudson.

Although I live an authentic life now, which enables me to be open and honest about who I am, and which has given me great strength, there was a time in my life when I was afraid to share this with anyone. I was afraid to live my life and be me. 

Years ago, I answered that second statement with the following: “If you really knew me, I think you wouldn’t accept me for who I am.” I was deeply afraid that if I was honest with the world about who I am, they wouldn’t accept me. This is a common human experience. We want to be accepted, to be loved, to be understood, to be respected. The root of this is the desire to be loved and accepted unconditionally. Can I remind you that God loves you unconditionally, and that your authentic self, your identity, comes from and is rooted in Him. This is the biggest step, I think, in living life unmasked – recognising your identity and strength truly come from God.

The more I’m honest with the world about who I am, the stronger I become. No matter what it is that you’ve experienced, no matter how scared you are of your story, or of sharing your faith, I hope that you can experience that same strength and inner peace that comes from taking off your mask and being authentically you. Be who God created you to be, and you will experience life in the most profound and beautiful way!

Asking the right questions

I am delighted to welcome Rachel Jones to my blog – her piece fits well within the Unmasked: stories of authenticity series, but she also provides us with an insight into how she went about researching her new book.

When I finished writing Is This It?,I felt a little bit sad. I felt a whole load of positive things too – grateful, relieved, satisfied. But also sad. 

Why? Because I’d miss the conversations. 

Is This It?explores twelve different emotions that are common in our 20s (and beyond) – from self-doubt to dissatisfaction and decision paralysis. The book grew out of my own experience of what some people would call a ‘Quarter-life Crisis’: a period of anxiety and uncertainty over where your life is at and where it’s going. (A bit like a mid-life crisis, but when you’re younger and therefore can’t afford to compensate with a sports car!) 

During the research and writing process I was on a year-long scavenger huntfor ideas, experiences and anecdotes from anyone who was in their 20s, or who had been once. I was a woman obsessed. Nobody was off-limits – old friends, church acquaintances and anyone unfortunate enough to sit next to me at a wedding. No topic was off limits either. Rather than enquiring about work and weekend plans in that period of post-church chit-chat, I started asking questions like: ‘I’m writing a chapter on loneliness this week. Do you ever feel lonely?’ 

Or, ‘I’m asking everyone about this at the moment, but have you ever struggled with doubt?’ 

Or, ‘Tell me about your experience of dating your husband. When did you know he was the one?’ 

Or, ‘What are you feeling discontent about at the moment?’

I’ll admit I was, at times, a little toointense. Those who saw a lot of me began to roll their eyes or raise an eyebrow whenever ‘the book’ came up. They knew what was coming. 

But here’s the thing: people were wonderfully honest with me. As part of the book project I had meaningful connections and real conversations with a whole range of people I wouldn’t have otherwise. It was fascinating. And I’m so grateful for it – first, because I trust that diversity of experiences made the book a whole lot better. And second, because I reaped the benefits of better, richer, deeper friendships as a result. 

It’s ironic, because during my own ‘Quarter-life Crisis’ I don’t think I spoke to many people about it. For months I felt a vague yet persistent sense of unhappiness. I was bored of life. I didn’t especially like where I was working, and I especially didn’t like where I was living. I felt a little bit lost, a little bit lonely, a little bit like I was looking for something, but I wasn’t sure what. But I didn’t really talk to anyone about it.Maybe they weren’t asking the right questions. Maybe I wasn’t giving the right answers. Maybe I didn’t have the guts, or the vocabulary, to be authentic. 

So writing and talking about my experience had been wonderfully freeing. That’s why I was so sad when the book project was over. 

But here’s the thing: we don’t need to be writing a book to have these kinds of conversations. We don’t need an ‘excuse’ to be vulnerable, or invite others to be vulnerable with us. We don’t have to have a special reason to be authentic with others. The Bible gives us reason enough: ‘Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice’ (Proverbs 27:9).

So here’s what I’m increasingly seeking to do, and what you could seek to do too:

  • Ask the right questions. Sometimes we need to be more intentional, and a bit braver, with the kind of questions we ask one another. Of course, this will depend on the kind of relationship we have with someone, and we need to be sensitive to their individual needs and personalities. Sometimes, though, it’s good to bite the bullet with real, direct questions. Other times, it’s interesting open questions that are more effective. (‘What are you thinking about right now?’ can result in interesting answers…)
  • Give authentic answers. This is way harder than asking the questions! So much within me wants to give the impression that everything’s fine and I’m quite a nice person really than be honest. Authenticity will only happen if we’re confident of who we are in Christ – if it’s his approval we rejoice in the most. And it helps me, too, to remember the benefits I’ve reaped from being honest in relationships in the past. So all I need to do is take a deep breath…and say something truthful about myself. 

Rachel Jones is the author of Is This It? and the award-winning Five Things to Pray series, and an editor at The Good Book Company. She’s a member of Chessington Evangelical Church, where she’s involved in children’s work and leading Bible studies for young adults.

Facing the face beneath the mask

I am delighted to welcome Mel to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. Here, she gives a behind-the-scenes glimpse into some of the issues she was wrestling with while writing her latest book, Picked for a Purpose, which publishes tomorrow – congratulations Mel! It is fascinating to hear how God prompted her to include more of her own story than she had previously planned to…

Ironically, I found myself, recently, having nightmares about ‘revealing all’ in my next book, Picked for a Purpose – memoirs which my publisher had asked me to write.I’d been going through considerable pain for almost a year due to a muscle tear in my shoulder and was suffering from lack of sleep. It was during those sleepless nights that the enemy seemed to attack. When asked how I was, however, with true British grin-and-bear-it reserve, I would don my mask and reply, ‘I’m fine, thank you. There are others far worse off than me.’

I’m sure we all know what it means to wear a mask at times. At least, in theory. But what about in practice? Do you ever ask yourself, ‘Who am I?’ Do you ever wonder if the person you believe yourself to be is really you? Or is the real you eclipsed? Hidden behind a facade? Blotted out by the persona you choose to convey?

‘Don’t make comparisons!’ my physiotherapist admonished me. ‘Own your pain!’

His words were like water off a duck’s back to me. Until, that is, the nightmares deepened. 

THE MASK OF MORALITY & RESPECTABILITY 

So why the fear? There’s nothing new about my life story. My earliest books, published in 1983, had focused on specific issues in my life, the first telling the story of a difficult marriage, the second of the divorce that followed, and the third of the detrimental effect on one of my daughters. Commissions from major publishers had followed, one of which, The Last Mountain: Living with Aids, became a Sunday Times No 4 Bestseller, plus speaking events, TV appearances and radio broadcasts.

Then, in the late 1990s, my writing career went on hold when I was asked to take on the role of Copyright & Financial Manager for Jubilate Hymns – a publishing company whose work was renowned worldwide. It was a fabulous experience but, on retirement fourteen years later, the urge to return to writing was overwhelming.

Having fulfilled God’s command to me to ‘comfort others with the comfort I’d received’(from 2 Corinthians 1:3-4) in my earlier books, I now felt I was being told to ‘entertain your readers so they will absorb truths they might otherwise resist’. Crossover fiction – portraying the truths of the cross to non-believers via story – seemed the obvious answer. I was aware, however, that few people would recall my earlier work, and that I was, in effect, starting from scratch. Hence Malcolm Down’s request that I share my life experiences again.

RIPPING OFF THE MASK . . .

I set to and, on completion of the first draft, I woke early one morning with a compulsion I knew was of the Lord. Rather than simply reproducing my adult life story, I was to include the terrors of my childhood and disasters of my adolescence. I was, also, God revealed, to add reflective sections at the end of each chapter, showing what I had learned, followed with relevant questions for the reader. The aim, I felt He was telling me, was to show, through my own experience, some of the mental issues with which young people wrestle today: unspeakable health problems; poor body image; the need for love leading to immorality; fragmented families replaced by gang culture; taking on another persona; and drug addiction – all a means of escapism. In other words, the donning of a mask to hide the real self.

It was to be more than that, though. I was to show the way in which God can take these negatives and bring forth positives: the purpose for which He has picked us. Hence Picked for a Purposebecame the title, with a strapline Bearing fruit through times of hardship.

. . . AND BARING ALL

Soon afterwards, during the period when I was finding it difficult to sleep due to extreme pain in my shoulder, a comment made in jest by one of my daughters gave me nightmares.

‘Do you really want the grandkids knowing what a naughty girl grannie was?’ she asked. ‘All those comments on Facebook and Twitter?’

Now I may be a grandma, but I am perfectly au fait with modern technology. Nevertheless, it simply hadn’t occurred to me to stop and think about the possibility of negative comments – perhaps from people who had known of my earlier life – nor the of detrimental effect this might have on family and friends. It was this that was giving me nightmares!

REPLACING THE MASK WITH THE SHIELD OF FAITH

Back in the day of my earlier books, Edward England had introduced me as a ‘best-selling author’. And although I had renounced the title, clearly, in his eyes, I was perceived as a woman of status! Was I now to be seen as something less? Wrestling at night with doubt, I seriously considered throwing the whole manuscript out of the window. But God intervened! In order to counter those negative perceptions he urged me to finish the book by setting out my purpose in revealing all. Here’s what I wrote:

‘The problem is that it’s all too easy to come across as a Victim; a “poor me” inviting pity and compassion. Equally problematic . . . is the concept of conveying an image of sainthood. A “look at me and my faith – aren’t you amazed?” when the reality is that I know myself to be a sinner not a saint.’

As with my shoulder pain, my purpose in writing the book was not to make comparison between my life and that of others. Neither was it to point the finger of blame at anyone. It was simply to own the pain of my life. To strip off the mask and face the face beneath. And in doing so, to glorify God. As He instructed me, so He does you:

Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place,and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Ephesians 6:14-16

That shield of faith will, surely, be more than sufficient to fend off the fear of being seen for who we are. Who we really are! Children of God. The real Me. The real You. Frail and faulty, yes, but now washed clean in the blood of Christ. No need to hide. No need for a mask.

A multi-published author since 1983, with commissions from Hodder & Stoughton plus a Sunday Times No. 4 Bestseller, Mel Menzies has written under several noms-de-plume. The first novel in the Evie Adams series, Time to Shine, also became a No. 1 Bestseller in its category on Amazon. 

An inspirational speaker, Mel has a lifetime of rich and painful experiences to draw on, including an undiagnosed congenital disease, a dumbed down childhood, divorce, debt, a daughter’s drug addiction and subsequent death.  Through her website and blog, An Author’s Look at Life www.melmenzies.co.uk, she offers resources to inform, inspire and encourage in all walks of life.  

The Father’s Valentine

Our church book group is working through The Father’s Kiss by Tracy Williamson at the moment. As it is Valentine’s Day, I asked her whether she could write a guest blog about the Father’s love. I’m sure you will agree that her personal story of God’s cherishing of her is a wonderful reminder to us all to look out for evidence of His loving care in our daily lives.

Today when I opened my inbox, I found dozens of adverts for Valentine’s gifts: lovely bunches of red roses, beautiful necklaces, yummy chocolates…precious gifts from the lover to cherish their beloved. Lovely, but it made me feel a bit sad, as I am single and, apart from a short romance when I was 19, I have never experienced being cherished on Valentine’s Day.  

Suddenly, even as I became aware of that sadness, the thought came to me: ‘but I cherish you! You are my number one!’ 

I knew this was the Lord, my loving heavenly Father speaking to comfort me and give me the joy of being beloved, even though I am single. And I realised that only His love is truly cherishing and life-giving to us all. While those of us who are single or in loveless relationships may feel left out on Valentines’ Day, our loving Heavenly Father never misses any of us out. John 3:16 says ‘For God so loved the world…’

His wonderful love is for us all whether married or alone, young or old….

I wonder if you know how much He cherishes and delights in you? I believe that today He wants to show you His love in a special way. He knows each of us inside out, which means the ways we experience His love will be varied but all will contain true blessings, rainbow moments of knowing He is watching over us, providing for us and delighting in us.  

When I felt that momentary sadness at not being part of Valentine’s Day, I responded to my Heavenly Father by asking: ‘So how do you want to cherish me Father? Please show me your love today.’  

Some really precious things then happened while I was on a journey with my blind friend Marilyn. I am deaf and partially sighted myself and also have some balance difficulties. We had a heavy suitcase and were having to travel in the rush hour. I was a bit concerned how we would manage, as it was essential we got a certain train.  

Father whispered in my heart, ‘see how I cherish you’. To my amazement, at every step of the 4-hour journey He lavished care on us. One lady went out of her way to carry the case up and down stairs to the underground so that I could guide Marilyn and hold onto the rail myself too. People gave up their seats on the tube and when we went to the info counter at Euston the staff were kind and helpful and amazingly put us into the first class compartment!  

Then, to cap it all, there was an announcement to say there would be a complimentary breakfast in first class. We thought: ‘that’s nice but won’t apply to us as we haven’t got first class tickets’. But they did give it to us, so we enjoyed lovely posh food on china plates and tea and coffee in china cups! Afterwards Father whispered in my heart: ‘that was all just a tiny part of my Valentine’s kiss of love to you today. There’s much more to come!’

Father loves you and rejoices over you. He wants to kiss you with His blessing of care and love today. Ask Him to show you His cherishing love in a way that will be just right for you and He’ll delight to answer that prayer. 

Tracy Williamson

Tracy is an author and speaker working for MBM Trust with Marilyn Baker, the blind gospel singer. Tracy recently published her latest book The Father’s Kiss  (Authentic Media).



The spirituality of the 1920s

I love Fiona’s Poppy Denby Investigates series, and have interviewed her and had guest posts from her when each new book has come out. Having already asked her about how she goes about writing a series, I asked whether she would come up with an idea for a guest blog, so that I could help her celebrate the latest title: The Cairo Brief. I wasn’t expecting what she sent through, but here is a fascinating explanation as to why she decided to include a séance in the book…

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you might see and hear things that have no apparent explanation. Do not… I repeat, do not… try to apply a scientific mind to them. […] There are some things you need to take on faith. The metaphysical world is one of them…” Lady Ursula at the start of a séance in The Cairo Brief, book 4 in the Poppy Denby Investigates series.

 

I spent my early Christian years in a community that treated even the slightest whiff of the occult – even comic depictions of it – with immense suspicion. I remember as a teenager walking out of the film Beatle Juice because I feared the devil would get his clutches into me. When I discovered that Arthur Conan Doyle was a leading spiritualist, I burned my treasured copy of the Complete Sherlock Holmes; something that to this day I regret.

Since those fearful times in the 1980s my faith has changed, and the paranoia about a demon behind every bush has all but gone. This does not mean that I do not believe in the reality of satanic forces in the world – and I still won’t watch a full-on horror film such as The Omen – but my views on how those satanic forces operate, and whether or not they can ‘get their clutches into you’ if you read or watch certain things, have matured.

Nonetheless, I’m aware that there is a broad spectrum of views on this in the Church and that it would be prudent, in a book from a Christian publisher, that my editor and I pause to consider whether or not the depiction of a séance would be appropriate. We both did. 

Firstly, séances were a marked cultural expression of the time. From the mid-1800s to the early 20th century, the spiritualist movement was in its heyday. For some it took the place of conventional religion with spiritualist churches (starting in the USA) soon spreading around the world. Academics and leading literary figures – like Arthur Conan Doyle – attempted to prove the existence of the paranormal, using quasi-scientific methodologies. Then there were those who didn’t take it very seriously at all, simply going along with the ‘fashion’ of playing occult parlour games.

Like my heroine Poppy – and many others of the time – Arthur Conan Doyle had lost loved ones during the war. It was as a result of that that he started trying to contact the dead, and, along with his second wife Lady Jean (an automatic writer), began leading séances. This was useful for me as one of the recurring themes of the Poppy Denby books is the dark shadow cast by the Great War and how individuals and society have been cut to the core by the horrors it unleashed.

The second reason we decided to include the séance was that the rise of alternative spiritualities in the 1920s was a result of the loosening of power of the established Church. That was something that I have been exploring through all of the Poppy Denby books. Poppy, the daughter of Methodist ministers, questions what it means to be a Christian in the new ‘modern’ world.

The post-WWI years saw the breakdown of cultural Christianity and the increasing separation of Church and State. As the State’s role as a provider of education, healthcare etc grew, the Church’s social function – as a welfare institution – began to diminish. As suffrage expanded to include the lower classes, the power they had to demand the government meet social needs meant that the Church no longer had a clearly defined role to play. People began to ask: ‘What, actually, is the point of church?’

http://www.world-war-pictures.com

Faith became an issue of personal choice. That’s why the evangelical movement did so well; because it was down to the individual and their ‘personal relationship with God’. In my Poppy books, the heroine is set adrift from Church as an institution and needs to re-align her faith. Is it a personal faith? Is it a family faith? Is it a communal faith? What role does a God of love have to play in a world blighted by horror?

The Twenties was a decade where God’s credibility was being challenged. It was no longer a matter of ‘we believe because the church tells us to’, it was: do ‘I’ believe it? People were increasingly emboldened to turn their backs on religious faith by the growing understanding of science, which some believed gave a legitimate alternative to the question of how the world came to be. People were no longer just asking ‘what’s the point of the Church?’ But: ‘what’s the point of God himself?’ In the 1920s universal suffrage put political power into the hands of individuals. The question of whether to believe in God or not was now in their hands too.

And so we have Poppy going into a séance. What will she make of it? Will the devil get his claws into her? Will she think it’s all a bit of harmless fun? Or, is something more serious, and ultimately, more sinister going on…? You’ll have to read it to see.

Fiona Veitch Smith is a writer and university lecturer, based in Newcastle upon Tyne. Her 1920s mystery novel The Jazz Files, the first in the Poppy Denby Investigates Series (Lion Fiction), was shortlisted for the CWA Historical Dagger award in 2016. The second book, The Kill Fee, was a finalist for the Foreword Review mystery novel of the year 2016/17. Book four in the series, The Cairo Brief, has been shortlisted for the People’s Book Prize, which you can vote for on the prize’s website. For more on the series visit www.poppydenby.com 

Going natural

 

Last Sunday, our church hosted six baptisms. It was a beautiful service, in which we joined with another church that had asked if they could share our baptismal time as they have no facilities to baptise people. We were delighted to do so. As one of the young people about to be baptised shared their story, I knew I had to ask her afterwards if she would be happy for me to post it as part of the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. I’m so pleased she said yes, as she has a real way with words, and an important message to share…

I started my relationship with God when I was 17. I remember my exact prayer.

“Dear God…what am I doing here? How is this my life? How is this my journey? What do I have to do to change it? Who do I need to become to make sure I am never in this place again? Never this scared again? Never this alone?”

I got my answer from him in one simple word.

Mine.

I promised him on that day that I would try everything in my power to be who he wanted me to be. Who my family wanted me to be. Who I wanted me to be.

And I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.

Six years later, I thought I’d finally figured it out. That I was finally on my way to knowing exactly who I was and putting that 17-year-old lost girl behind me.

But then it happened. A whisper of a comment about something so trivial no one would ever predict or understand the impact.

“You should let your hair go natural.”

I know. So simple. So un-exciting. But it kept coming up and after a couple months of uncertainty I suddenly got filled with the confidence to do it. So, I cut half my hair off and let my ‘fro-fly-free’ knowing full well it would not look beautiful or curly for probably years.

What I didn’t know was that I was in fact entering a whole new stage of that promise I had made at 17. That what I thought was a simple cosmetic choice was actually a deep dive into who I saw I was versus who God has always seen.

It took a week before it hit me.

A week of looking in the mirror not liking what I saw but constantly trying to reassure myself that “it’s ok, it’s just the beginning of the journey” … “it’s ok, you’ll be beautiful again one day” … A week of trying to get my fringe to stay down instead of sticking out of my forehead like a unicorn horn.

It was a tireless, relentless week of everyday routines I had to do to make sure that my ‘big decision’ didn’t result in my hair breaking apart and falling down around me. Needless to say, by day seven it had all caught up to me in waves. I was crying. Insistently. I thought, “Dear God. What have I done? Why am I suddenly so insecure? Why do I feel so exposed? Didn’t we put that 17-year-old girl to bed and move on?”

And that’s when the truth caught up to me.

It was never really about my hair. This story I’m telling you is not about my hair. It was about recognising the identity I have in Christ and appreciating the beauty in it, not the shame.

God took something he knew was precious to me (my hair), something I didn’t realise defined who I was – made me feel confident, beautiful etc – and gave me the inspiration and encouragement to make it authentic. To stop hiding it, covering it or forcing it into a submissive unhealthy state and to just let it be. To not look at all the damage, all the things that I hate, all the negatives and to focus on what it can be. What it will be if I continue to do all the things I know I need to do to it every day.

God showed me that’s how he sees us. How he sees me. When he looks at me, he doesn’t focus on all the things that are wrong with me. On all my mistakes, on all the things imperfect about me, on all the ways I know I annoy him. He sees who I can be. Who I will be if I continue to keep my focus on him and do all the things I know I need to do, every day.

I am not perfect. I am messy and tangled and frizzy and stubborn and difficult and it’s going to take a lifetime of constant battles, deep treatments, late-night routines and daily regimes before I start to look like the person God sees. But we’ve started the journey now. I made the promise at 17 and now I’m ready to honour that commitment and enter that new stage side-by-side with the person who has never left me. Who has now and always has looked at me, and seen something beautiful. Something worth the trouble.

So, to whoever is reading this, I want you to know. You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful. And you will be beautiful all the days of your life. Because you were fearfully and wonderfully made.

Nicole is a 23-year-old working in a start-up in Croydon with other young 20-year-olds. She says: “Either I have a passion for seeing things grow from the ground up or I am a sucker for pain. Either way, I know my desire to push through high-pressure situations comes from a family background of basketball, performing arts and athletes. I love to write, love to sing, but most importantly, I love being a child of God!”

 

Taught to trust

Taken by Kate’s husband, John Vilkaitis

Today I welcome Kate Nicholas to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity series. I thoroughly enjoyed her book Sea Changed, and found her insights and courage in the midst of cancer inspirational. She shares here about the need to let go of control and trust Jesus.

For most of my life, I have been a bona fide control freak. It is a tendency honed by years of working in, and with, the media – initially as a journalist then editor-in-chief of business and current affairs magazine and global communications chief of Christian aid agency World Vision.

In the cut and thrust of the newsroom, or the midst of a humanitarian crisis, there is little room for you to be vulnerable. As a leader you have to be seen to be strong, resilient and in control, and in order to survive many develop a mask to hide the child within. My husband used to jokingly refer to the tough persona that I unwittingly developed as Kate Nicholas plc.

It also isn’t easy being a Christian in the media. All too often those with faith are dismissed as too trusting and naive to have the critical faculties necessary for serious journalism. But this view is based on a fundamental misconception about the nature of trust.

Trust isn’t a passive option.It often requires considerable courage. It is the opposite of being in control and learning to trust is sometimes incredibly challenging.

NO CHOICE BUT TO TRUST

It was the summer of 2014 when I was first diagnosed with advanced inoperable cancer that had spread around my heart. My prognosis was not good and I found myself in a situation that was completely beyond my control.

There was absolutely nothing I could do to change it. All I could do was trust that God would do what was best for me. Cancer is a great trust teacher!

From the outset, I felt that God was with me in the midst of my suffering. I had a strong impression that he was telling me to let go, to stop holding on so tightly to my life, and let him take the helm. And it was only when I finally gave in, and surrendered my control freak tendencies, that God was able to do something wonderful and transformative.

LEARNING FROM PETER

The Gospel of Matthew includes a remarkable story about trust. Matthew recounts an incident that took place on the Sea of Galilee. It was a stormy night, and the apostles were rowing through the darkness when they saw what they thought was an apparition walking towards them across the surface of the water. They were understandably afraid and cried out in terror, but then they heard a voice saying, ‘Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.’

They thought it was Jesus but couldn’t be sure so Peter replied, ‘Lord, if it’s you . . . tell me to come to you on the water.’ And when Jesus said simply, ‘Come,’ without hesitation Peter climbed out of the boat and, as the storm raged around him, stepped out in faith towards his Saviour. It is probably the greatest example of breathtaking, inspiring human trust in Scripture.

All too often we focus on the fact that, a few moments later, Peter took his eye off Christ and, looking down at the waves at his feet, began to panic and sink, but this doesn’t diminish the extraordinary trust that he initially displayed. For a moment he put his faith into action and acted on his belief.

To trust is let go of our need for control.Trust isn’t safe. It requires us to step out of our comfort zone and it severely challenges those of us who feel the need to plan every aspect of our lives (and others’) down to the last detail. Trust demands that we, like Peter, be willing to step out in faith into the unknown.

The Hebrew word for ‘to trust’ in the Old Testament is bataach, which means to have a bold, confident security, and the New Testament Greek word pisteuo means to have confidence in the thing believed. Trust requires us to take the risk of believing in that which we can’t yet see,to let go of our own inadequate and incomplete understanding of God’s plans and recognise that he is on the throne.

Living trusting in ourselves is frankly exhausting and ultimately futile, but we will find that when we are willing to truly hand over control to our creator, God will transform us in more ways than we can ever imagine.

Kate Nicholas is an author, broadcaster and consultant with 30 years’ experience working in media and communications. She preaches at the church of St Peter and St Paul, Olney where the world-famous hymn Amazing Grace was written.

Kate’s best-selling memoir Sea Changed (shortlisted Christian Biography of the Year 2017) tells the story of her unconventional journey of faith and healing from advanced cancer. Her latest book Sea Changed: A Companion Guide – Living a Transformed Lifelooks at how God uses the circumstances of our lives to transform us, as well at what the fruits of this transformation look like – including the ultimate transformation that takes place at the end of our earthly life. Her recent 12-part TV series Living a Transformed Life (which aired on TBN UK) can be viewed free on demand at www.katenicholas.co.ukor   https://www.tbnuk.org/vod/watch/living-a-transformed-life/our-god-of-transformation

Kate’s books are available at Christian bookstores and Waterstones throughout the UK and online at eden.co.uk and Amazon worldwide.

 

Getting real

 

Today I have the huge pleasure of introducing Catherine Parks as a guest blogger on the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. Catherine has written a brilliant, challenging book called Real: the surprising secret to deeper relationships. In it, she describes how she discovered that repentance is the key to creating genuine, authentic relationships. She expands on an extract of the book below to share with us how she learned to cultivate the habit of repentance in her own life.

I’m not generally one to talk about the deep parts of myself – my fears, sins, or even triumphs. I naturally shrug off questions about myself, partly afraid to let others in, distrustful of my motives and heart, and partly because I’m not always aware of what’s really going on in my heart. But thankfully, the Lord has given me two dear friends who, over time, have learned to pull me out of myself. One of these friends moved to my town a few years ago, and we immediately started spending regular time together. After the first few occasions, I noticed that whenever we met up she would ask, “How’s your heart?”

To me, this was an awkward question, and a little strong coming from someone I hadn’t known that long. Not one to go too deep too quickly, I didn’t have a great answer. The first couple of times I just said, “Oh, good, I think. Yeah. Nothing much going on.” And then I turned it back on herand she told me some of the things she was struggling with. She eventually commented on how I was so laid back and must just not be dealing with much. She thought my marriage was perfect. She thought my kids must be angels.

It wasn’t so much that I was trying to hide some secret sin from her; I just didn’t really know how my heart was. But I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea about things, so eventually I started preparingon my way to meet her, trying to figure out what I would say when she asked me. I was motivated by her opinion of me.I wanted her to think I was reciprocating in the relationships, and that I didn’t think I was perfect. I was driven by pride and thinking too much of myself.

While my motivation was wrong, the effect was so good. I started actually examining my heart, praying for sin to be revealed, and then confessing it to another person.I had always analyzed everything around me, but tended to neglect my own heart.

The benefits of this friendship started to affect my other relationships.I was more open with my husband about my struggles because I was actually putting a name to them. I was quicker to admit failure and sin to other friends,particularly one who had waited for years for me to be more forthcoming and transparent. And because I had identified specific struggles, I was learning to recognize my temptations and to pray for help in the moment.

Vulnerability takes time and trust.I could trust my friend because I had spent time with her. I knew she cared about me. I knew she was on my team, helping me to fight my sin. And I saw her own willingness to be vulnerable,which paved the way for me to follow.

Yes, this takes time and trust – but it is worth it. Because ultimately, in relationship with other Spirit-filled, grace-loving believers, confession isn’t about judgment and guilt – it’s an opportunity to rejoice in the gospel together, side-by-side, praising the Savior whose sacrifice brings us the forgiveness and grace we all so desperately need.

Catherine Parks loves to help women build friendships around scripture. She has written for the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission and Christianity Today. She lives in Nashville with her husband, two children and a cute mutt named Ollie.

 

 

 

 

Remember why you started dating

I am so pleased to be guest blogging over on Tiffany Montgomery’s marriage and motherhood blog Hope & Joy in Christ as part of her ’31 Ways to Reclaim Joy in a Christian Marriage Series’, taking place throughout July.

Here is a little taster:

‘What was it that attracted you to him in the first place?’

That was the first question I was asked when I sat in a room with my husband, facing a husband and wife counselling team.

I was taken aback. It wasn’t something that I had thought about – for years. I was only there having made the decision to go back to our marriage and try and work our issues through. But I was at the point of wrestling with God as to whether I would ever be able to feel love for my husband again – and now I was being asked what had originally drawn me to him!

I found it hard to answer for a while. But I eventually did – a bit through gritted teeth at the time. And then, once my husband answered the question about me, it was followed by another: ‘What did you like to do together when you first went out on dates?’ When we had both answered, they then set our ‘homework’ for that week – to choose one thing out of what we had said and go and do it.

To read the rest of the article, please click here. On that page, you can also enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of my book Taking Off the Mask 🙂

Kate Bowler on grief, cancer – and touch

There has been a lot of noise about Kate Bowler’s book Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. And rightly so. In it she is incredibly honest about what it is like to live with a cancer diagnosis. How difficult it is to go through treatment, cope with friends’ and family members’ processing, as well as receiving endless explanations from strangers about why she has cancer (she wrote an article for the New York Times).

Knowing about my Unmasked blog series, Kate’s publicist and publisher offered me the chance to share an extract of my choice from the book. It feels especially poignant to be doing this now, as just last week I lost a dear friend to cancer. I am certain that she is now fully pain-free, and with her Saviour, but for those of us who are left behind we mourn and grieve. I am so grateful for those moments that I was able to share with her in her last days. Grateful too for this book, as it taught me how important touch is – and so I remembered to reach out and give my friend a hug as I said goodbye for what turned out to be the last time. It’s also taught me that grief starts early, which I am finding in another situation I am currently experiencing.

I know cancer is a particularly emotive subject, and full of pain for many. I hope that Kate’s naked honesty, and sprinkling of humour, will help others to understand what it is really like for those with cancer – and how we can be better at supporting them even as we process the emotional pain ourselves. Over to Kate…

There must be rhythms to grief, but I do not know them.

People begin to take their turns grieving me because it can’t be done all at once. Family and friends who could not be at the hospital for my operation come to stay at the house, and we start all over at the beginning.

I sit outside, wrapped in the same blankets and taking in the sunshine, all my favorite people orbiting around me. My pastor takes out her Psalms and reads a little, gripping my hand. My mom cooks a lot, stocking the freezer with everything that is suggested to be anticancer. My older sister, Amy, sends treats and constant encouragement, while Maria, my younger sister, gives me her words when she can’t be there, sending me poems and bits of trivia from New York, where she is working as an editor for a Catholic magazine. She has two big hopes for me: one, that I will be cured; the other, that, before it is over, I will punch the nearest inconsiderate person in the face.

I have so many fears, spoken and unspoken. When I first got my job at Duke and realized that I was going to live in the United States for some time, I made a lot of loud protestations about how “I will not die in a foreign land!” I also made clear that I would not die in my office, not only because that had happened before to professors (prone, as they are, to get preoccupied by their research) but also because it seemed sad, at twenty-nine, to feel exiled to the Land of Opportunity for eternity. I think back on how I casually strategized about where I would be buried, concerned that I would never be able to reconcile all the parts of my identity. A daughter who lives far from family. A friend who spends too much time at work. A wanderer but a type A planner. I wondered if I would ever be one, whole person. But now I am not hoping for completeness of any kind. All I can think of are the logistics. One night I wake up almost every hour because my mind has seized on a horrible question: Wouldn’t it be a paperwork nightmare to move my body? To take me home?

When I teach pastors at the seminary where I work, I lecture them about the First Great Awakening and religious responses to the Civil War and how their political differences will ruin their next Thanksgiving if they don’t learn to shut their traps. But as a historian, I have never spent any time teaching them how to perform baptisms, officiate weddings, or conduct funerals. And I have certainly never told them what to say when they visit someone who is dying and how not to sit on her couch, mouth full of cookies, and ask endless questions about how cancer treatment works. I did not tell them how few of their words are needed but how much their hands are wanted, a hand on my back as I tear up, a hand on my head for a soft prayer for healing. When I feel I am fading away, these hands prop me up and make me new. When my older colleague Frank, who lost his own adult son, found his way into my hospital room, he wrapped his strong hands around mine and said, quietly: “I wore this clerical collar to impress you. And also to get through hospital security.”

Kate Bowler is an assistant professor in the school of divinity at Duke University. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and son. Currently the experimental immunology treatment she is undergoing is working, and studies suggest Kate has at least another year to live.