Everyone's got a metaphorical bookshelf they pile books on. Sometimes by author and topic and other times because the cover is really pretty. Am I wrong? Remember, I'm not a huge book fan.
Some books make it on my bookshelf by accident, while others are purposefully placed there, reachable and dogged eared. Those are the books I am continuously drawn towards again and again because of their density. Their richness.
Those books contain something way more than the black and white. They're written by authors I've come to know and love and turn to as a type of sage.
They've become my spiritual mothers and sisters. But before you get all weirded out and think I'm this crazy girl who sits in her darkened house, with no friends, reading by candlelight, let me show you what I mean.
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The first time I read Bittersweet, I cried reading Shauna's story of loss and struggle. My heart broke for what she was experiencing and I prayed God would redeem what she lost by the thousands. Little did I know, I would need her words for my own story of loss. And the book came more alive the second, and third, and fourth time. (Bittersweet, Shauna Niequist)
Ann opened my eyes to how imperative thankfulness is in the Christian life. Thankfulness bring freedom. I need more freedom. (One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp)
I laughed and snorted my way through Melanie's memoir of pregnancy and motherhood. Even though I was a total newbie at it, she made me feel a little less crazy. (Sparkly Green Earrings, Melanie Shankle)
And Rachel and Sarah are like sisters wrote down everything I've been thinking through on biblical standards of women versus cultural standards. Is there really a "right" way to do it? And how do we know that's exactly what Paul was saying in that passage? Thank Rach and Sarah. I owe you. (A Year of Biblical Womanhood, Rachel Held Evans, Jesus Feminist, Sarah Bessey)
Emily's book was like a lamp in a dark place of shame for me. Self-rightousness. I felt like we were the same girl growing up. My life wasn't horrible. I was the good girl. I had all the right answers in Sunday School and was the "prayer warrior" in high school. I glazed over my own need for grace for too long. (Grace for the Good Girl, Emily Freeman)
Gail taught me that creativity isn't as natural and whimsical as I thought. It's beautiful, methodical, and takes work. Intentional, but really fun work. (12 Secrets of High Creative Women, Gail McMeekin)
And Lisa, man that mama kicked this doubting girls butt into gear. "We are not some group of straggling, struggling, fatherless refugees who are overcome by sin and wondering if there is a God. We are the collective body of Christ, destined for triumph, victory, and signs and wonders." Yes ma'am! (Lioness Arising, Lisa Bevere)
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I am so grateful for these women who have mothered me from afar. They'll most likely never know my name or ever see my face. But I know they care, because they write. They write for us to read and see how God has moved and shaken and transformed and showed up in their lives. They write to spur us on in love. In motherly, sisterly love.
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Who are your spiritual mothers and sisters?
Who are you writing for? Who are you painting or singing or working for?
