Those who are wise shall shine
Like the brightness of the firmament,
And those who turn many to righteousness
Like the stars forever and ever.
~ Daniel 12:3

Having not grown up in churches that strictly follow the Liturgy, I didn’t realize until recently that the Christian year actually begins with Advent–but how appropriate is it that we mark all our time by the coming of Christ? I love the beauty of this. And so, as this year draws to a close, I wanted to actually look at the liturgical reading for the week, quoted above. The old year ends and the new year begins with a focus on Christ’s return, before we shift our focus toward His first coming.

And that verse from Daniel really spoke to me this week. It’s talking about the final judgment, when the dead shall rise into eternity, some to punishment and some to glory. Now read those words again. Those who are wise shall shine … those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever.

Does that speak to you like it does to me? Shine like the stars. That’s what we’re called to do–to be wise, to turn many to righteousness. This, my friends, whatever our jobs or our vocations, is our ultimate calling. We should be pointing others, always, to Him. We should be leading them to righteousness. Our words, our actions, our lives should be a testimony.

As Christians, we never get a day off. It isn’t just that people are always watching (though of course they are). It’s that God is always watching. We know this, of course, but I think far too often we hide behind the adage of “Well, I’m only human.” Obviously this is true, and we’re going to falter and stumble and get in bad moods and snap at people and grumble. But then what? Do we say, “Who cares, we all do it? I’m only human.”? Or do we apologize and seek to repair any damage we’ve done? Do we make people say, “Well if they’re a Christian, then no thanks” or do we lead them to Him?

As the Christmas season approaches, we’re all going to see stars everywhere–decorations, lights, on top of our trees. Those stars are a reminder of the one that led the wise men to Christ…but they should also be a reminder of how we are to lead others to Him today too.

May we be wise, may we guide people in righteousness. My friends, may we shine like the stars.

One year ago, I shared about “The Day That Changed Everything…and Nothing” — the day my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. That day that, had we lived in the eras I so love to write about it, he would have died. I know I’ve mentioned this new life a few other times since, but I try not to inundate you all, LOL.

However, it’s November, which means Diabetes Awareness month. It’s exactly one year since I shared that super-long, super-vulnerable post linked above. It’s been 13.5 months since that Day. I thought it would be a good day to invite all of us to pause and look at the quiet warriors among us. Those with invisible diseases that they fight every day. Every…day. Those who wage wars most of us would never dream. Those who fight with faith and hope under burdens so very heavy. I’m not just talking about T1Ds here, I’m talking about all those quiet warriors.

I remember years ago, my best friend was getting her son ready for Halloween. He had epilepsy, and they were on the crazy-intense medical keto diet to try to give his brain a chance to heal itself (and it worked, praise God!). She was telling me about how, all around the country, there were people who put out teal pumpkins–something she’d never paused to think about until it was her kid who needed it. Teal pumpkins, you see, are filled with non-candy treats in consideration of kids with extreme food allergies. And since part of the diet is absolutely NO sugar, this was imperative for her son–candy was an absolute NO. As they hunted through their neighborhoods for teal pumpkins, she was so, so touched that people cared enough about these kids who couldn’t have candy to do that. I also remember her lamenting how her son looked perfectly normal from the outside, so people didn’t know how dangerous life could be for him. That at any moment, he could have a seizure and topple from the playground equipment and seriously injure himself.

That was when I first began to appreciate these quiet warriors among us. Maybe they’re the kids sitting next to yours on the bus. Maybe it’s the woman three cubicles over who has that annoying alarm going off all the time. Maybe it’s the older gentleman holding the door open for you as you rush into the store.

You can’t tell to look at them. But they’re fighting. They’re fighting diseases that are trying to silence them forever, and they’re doing it with bravery, with hope, with strength of spirit. They’re accepting the fact that there are all these lists of things that are “cannot”s for them. For instance, my son:

• Cannot eat without giving himself an injection
• Cannot eat without counting all the carbs
• Cannot eat without measuring everything out exactly
• Cannot go to bed without taking his long-acting insulin
• Cannot leave the house without his “go-bag” of insulin and sugar-laden supplies to bring up low blood sugars
• Cannot enjoy swimming or other activities without either pre-loading himself with sugar and protein or checking every few minutes to make sure he’s not dropping too low (low blood sugars can make a diabetic pass out or have seizures or, in extreme cases, die)
• Cannot take a shower within 30 minutes of taking insulin

These are just a few of his “cannot”s. These are the limitations that come with his particular war. It’s different, of course, for others. But no less a battle. No less a challenge.

Here’s the thing I’ve witnessed, though, in this last year. These warriors don’t focus on the negatives–they focus on what they CAN do. My son is stronger than he has ever been–physically and emotionally and mentally. He may sigh in frustration, but he does what he needs to do. I can count on one hand the times in the last year he has complained about anything diabetes-related. He gets up every day, and he faces it. He forgives me when I forget something he needs, puts on that stiff upper lip, and just waits for us to get home so he can eat. He laughs with me when we have to make an 8 a.m. detour to three different pharmacies in a strange town to try to find the needles that I didn’t put back in his bag. He learns. He adapts. He takes care of himself. He does not, for one minute, let this disease define him.

And that is the same sort of fortitude I’ve seen not only in other Type 1 kids and adults, but in so many others who have learned to live with what seems to us to be “too much to bear.” They do bear it. And they bear it with strength that inspires me…that inspires me not only to be strong, but to be considerate.

Because I never know what invisible war that person beside me is fighting. I never know if I’m putting them at risk with my actions. I never know if my assumption that they are “normal” because they look “normal” is adding a burden to their battle. I can’t know.

But what I can know is that everyone has some battle they are fighting. Whether it’s chronic illness or disease or depression, whether it’s any one of a thousand different things, they are a warrior. YOU are a warrior. And as a mom of such a warrior, I don’t just salute you–I support you. I will ask myself how I can protect you. How I can make your life easier. How I can consider what you need instead of how those needs may inconvenience me.

As a Type 1 family, we are praying for a cure, and we are so encouraged by the medical advances and studies going on even now (like this, as one example). We pray that someday there will be a solution that will manage this disease for my son, so that all those “cannot”s don’t always rule his days. But we also know that even if that day never comes, he will be a champion.

How do we know? Because we see all the champions that have come before. That are walking this same road even now. We see all the quiet warriors, breaking through enemy lines and seizing the day, chasing their dreams, trusting that even in the worst, there’s Someone holding them.

To all you quiet warriors, I pray God’s strength upon you. And I thank you. Your example has gotten us through this last year. And I can only pray that my warrior’s example will do the same for others.

Fight on!

The JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) is the nation’s leader in fundraising for this cause. They not only support research all across the country, they also provide networking and community opportunities for those living with Type 1.

This begins in a rather silly place, but bear with me. When we went on vacation to the beach in September and I was slathering on the sunscreen and noting the amount of tan I was getting each day through walking and spending the morning at the water, I realized something. I’d grown up in a family with a pool and who took tanning seriously. It was something we did, goals we set. My mom and sister still sit out in the sun just to get a tan, as do my nieces. There’s nothing wrong with that (morally, I’m not talking about risks of skin cancer)…but it’s not something I do anymore. Which is fine.

But occasionally I feel like I have to apologize to them for it, or make excuses for why I don’t. I don’t have time… or My skin type is prone to skin cancer, I need to be careful.

But…WHY? Why do I feel that way? Maybe in part it’s because people will say “Oh, you look so nice with a little color in your cheeks!” or maybe it’s because sometimes people follow it up with, “You know, if you just spend 30 minutes outside a day, you could keep that tan all summer.” But I think mostly it’s because sometime in my childhood, I identified it as good. Which meant it was something to strive toward. Something to seek. Something…virtuous.

Of course, when I state it so baldly, it’s obviously not. Looking a certain way has nothing to do with virtue. Neither does having a beautifully decorated home or regularly washing your car or exercising daily or adhering to a particular diet. These things are perhaps vanity, perhaps pride, perhaps discipline, perhaps health-seeking. But they are not moral questions in and of themselves. They are not by nature virtuous or unvirtuous (though our pursuit of them could be). And because they’re silly examples, they’re the perfect entry point to asking myself a deeper question:

What else have I mistaken as a virtue that isn’t? What do I pursue, thinking it a Good, when it as best a “good,” but most likely just a thing? Where do I have my eyes fixed on the earthly where they should be fixed on the heavenly?

The whole tanning thing started the question, but some other “things” I’ve found are:

Reading. I love it, and I can get a lot of good out of it. But it does not make me better than non-readers, morally speaking. My son learns just as much from YouTube videos as I do from books. Being a book-lover is part of my identity…but it is not a virtue.

Being outdoorsy. We live in a beautiful area with lots of mountains and forests, and I spent a lot of time outside as a kid, as did my husband. But enjoying the outdoors is not a virtue. I am not sinning when I sit inside instead, even on beautiful days. I always appreciate the beauty of God’s world…but I can’t always be out in it. My work is almost entirely indoors.

Holding particular political views. In this divided climate, I hear so many people equating belonging to a particular political party or holding to a certain political view as “right” and “good” and even “Godly.” But the truth is that Jesus never once encouraged people to engage in politics or take political sides. He invites us to keep our eyes on the Kingdom of God instead of the kingdoms of men.

I’m sure there are many other places that I need to separate “enjoyable” or “worthwhile” from truly VIRTUOUS, and it’s something I’ve begun keeping an eye out for. Because plenty of things really are worthwhile and can enrich our lives and our faith…but if we apply that “virtuous” label to them, then we think they’re good for everyone, because virtues ARE. But these things are NOT on that level. They can be good, yes…but they are not required for all. They can be good without being virtuous.

Is there anything in your life that you’ve mistaken for a virtue when really it’s a simple lower-case-g good?

When a family is made up of a novelist wife and her publisher/filmmaker husband, there are a lot of conversations in the house about story–what makes them powerful, what makes them fail. What makes them lasting, what makes them forgettable.

A few weeks ago as David and I were chatting about some books and films we were reading and watching, we were musing about what the problem was with a certain one, and David said, “I think it’s that it just gives us the answer. The writers didn’t set out to explore a topic–they set out to give a canned answer. But that’s too easy, and ‘too easy’ doesn’t ever ring true. That’s why it’s a fail.”

Over the decades, I have heard Christian fiction called “preachy” soooooo many times–by fellow Christians. At first this puzzled me. I mean, I would get it if non-believers were turned off by any faith message and called it “preachy.” But fellow Christians? Why would they toss a book aside in disgust because it was “preachy”? They like preaching! They go every week for a dose of it, right? LOL.

Then I began to really pay attention to what stories earned that label and why. Sometimes it was that there were literally sermons in the novels that weren’t really necessary…but that was rare. Sometimes it was that a character seriously preached at another character…but that wasn’t always it.

Many times–perhaps even most times–it was exactly the thing my husband pointed out in our conversation. It was that the whole book seemed to be just handing us an answer–a pat, cliche, easy answer.

Life, faith, truth, though…those aren’t easy. They’re complicated. They’re involved. They’re DEEP. So shouldn’t our stories about them be too?

When I enrolled at St. John’s College (The Great Books School), I remember the first day of science lab. Our tutor (professor) said that the goal of the class was not to learn facts. The goal of the class was to learn how to ask good questions. In many ways this is the main goal of the entire St. John’s education. When it was put into words like that, though, I know very well I frowned and looked over at the students next to me. Learn how to ask questions? What was this guy talking about? We ALL know how to ask questions!

Half an hour later, I realized I didn’t. My education had never taught me that. My education had simply taught me how to absorb facts and spit them back out on a test. Not how to discover. Not how to explore a topic. The example from that first lab class was this: go outside. Sit in front of something growing. Now start describing it. We began with, “It’s a tree.” To which our tutor replied, “Is it? How do you know? How do you know it isn’t a bush instead? Or an herb?” And so on it went, not just in that class, but through four years of classes on all subjects. We learned that answers are only part of learning. Just as important, if not more important, are the questions that lead us there, and that lead us onward. To the next discovery. The next Truth. The next good question.

And the stories that really resonate do the same thing–they don’t just lay out a quick, easy answer to some topic that the author wanted to hammer on. No, no. Good stories–whether non- or fiction, book or film or article–ask questions. They make us ask questions. Good questions. DEEP questions. They invite us to ponder, to view a subject from a perspective we’ve never considered before. They make us sit back and go “Huh. Wow.” They open our minds and our hearts to new possibilities.

That’s the magic of story. More, it’s the importance of questions.

Try it in your own conversations or studies sometime, I dare you–it’s so much fun, and so enlightening! Instead of a Bible study being all about the presentation of facts, start with an “opening question,” like we did in each class at St. John’s. And then explore it. See where it takes you. See what amazing thing the Lord reveals through delving past the accepted and expected, past the pat and easy answers. See what depths you discover. And see how much closer you draw to Him and how much richer the world looks when you do.

We are a storytelling people. It only takes a look at modern society to see the truth of it. Our advertisements, our movies, our books, our games…we love them and are persuaded by them not because they tell us facts or make promises. We are persuaded and enchanted when they tell us a story we can believe in.

I love this about humanity. I love that story often matters more than a mere recitation of fact. That is, after all, what I make my living on–telling YOU stories that will show a bit of God’s truth through my fictional words. I love it because I recognize how powerful such things are in my own life, my own heart. A history book that just presents a list of facts? Forget about it. But one that tells me about the lives–the stories–of the people who lived…those stay with me. They teach me. They help me to understand situations and cultures and people unlike me. It’s why I began Seeing the Story, it’s why I’m a novelist.

But there’s another side to being a storytelling people too–there’s a dangerous side. Have you ever paused to think about that?

The term today is “anecdotal evidence,” which probably makes most scientist cringe, LOL. But it’s something we put a LOT of stock in. Because they’re stories. Stories about people we know, or who are known by people we know, or on down the line. Anecdotal evidence comes in compelling packages and can never be disproven, because it exists only in the realm of story, really. Track down the actual person, and you may find facts quite different from the anecdote you heard (we all know that “telephone” game, right?)

I came across this years ago when I was doing research for The Reluctant Duchess. I needed a character to think she had miscarried a child. She fell a few days before. Could this cause a miscarriage? When I looked it up, I was shocked to see that doctors say, “No. Highly unlikely.” At least for the kind of fall I was talking about. But that’s not what I’d heard over the years. How could that be? Well, because there are anecdotes of women falling and then miscarrying. Surely it was linked! But was it? The sad truth is that a certain percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage. And it’s also true that a certain percentage of people trip and fall every day. There’s going to be overlap there, but that doesn’t necessitate cause.

But a hurting heart doesn’t care about statistics. A hurting heart wants a reason. And so we seek them. We latch hold of whatever makes most sense to us. And we tout it as truth.

This can be so dangerous though. This can lead so quickly to “Mary and I got in an argument, and she scowled at my garden, and the next day it withered! She’s a witch!”

We may shake our head at witch trials in the literal sense today, but there’s a reason they’re part of our history–it’s because they’re so indicative of our natures. We tell ourselves stories…and we believe them. We act on them. We teach them as truth. And if scientific evidence ever dares to disagree, which do we believe?

The one with the most compelling story.

Now, I’m a storyteller–I am not a scientist. So my natural inclination is always to go with the stories. But I’ve had to teach myself over the years to check that impulse when it comes to certain things. Health, medicine, technology, just to name a few. Because though I can tell a great story about how all the computers in the house rebelled at the same time and come up with a really great conspiracy theory as to why…let’s be realistic. It’s just a coincidence. Me telling stories about how software corporations are out to get me is not helpful, LOL.

Which then makes me ask the same about other stories I tell, other stories I hear. Are they true…or just compelling? Do they have actual fact behind them? Do they agree with documented studies, if it’s a field that has such things? If not, then I need to favor fact above anecdote.

Because trust me, I know the power of words, of story. And that’s why I know how important it is to use them wisely.

Have you ever been convinced by a story just because it’s compelling, only later to learn it’s totally untrue? Are there any cases of anecdotal evidence floating around your world today that you need to investigate more closely? I hope we can remind each other to do that. Because loving stories is one thing–but we need to be careful we’re loving the right ones. The ones that speak of Truth.