​After three weeks back at work, the nastiest head cold found me.

Ideally, I would take the time off and get better, but I don’t have the sick time, and I can’t afford it besides.

Ordinarily, I would power through. I didn’t deem sickness or fatigue all that valid, or at the very least, it shouldn’t shut me down. At my previous custodial job, I once worked with both influenza and strep throat. Not my finest moment.

But something changed this summer.

When summer started, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it—whether reading a book, or writing, or whatever task needed done. And when I tried, I had to claw and fight for every step.

It’s unsettling. The ability to do something I’d been able to do forever . . . disappeared. And I couldn’t know when it would come back. If it would come back.  

I’d break out every so often. I’d complete all those little tasks. I’d read a couple books. And then I’d fall right back in the slump. It was bewildering—it wasn’t because I didn’t have time. I had plenty of time. I wanted to do all these things.

But watching a movie was always easier. Or scrolling my phone. Or staring off into space. Sometimes it felt like that was all I could do. My favorite things weren’t giving me joy. Or if they were, I wasn’t receiving it.

I would console myself with the idea that I was just stressed, and when X, Y, or Z would resolve themselves, then I’d get all my energy back. Once school let out, I’d have more time and less stress. But then X, Y, and Z resolved themselves and no magic motivation sparked.

So if it wasn’t outside circumstances, what was wrong with me? I got more and more scared that something was really, truly broken in me. I could do way more than this when I was thirteen, why couldn’t I handle everything now? (How convenient to forget that it stressed me out when I was younger, too.)

I was in full flaming burnout. Years of pushing through it and sucking it up caught me.

And then, right before work started again in August, some mental switch flipped. I noticed it in my reading first. I wanted to read everything I could get my hands on. I finished books that had been gathering dust on my shelf. I met my Goodreads challenge within the month. And I enjoyed it again.

How?

For the first time this year, I was forced to slow down.

I couldn’t do it all, no matter how hard I tried. I can’t keep up with everyone around me, and that’s okay.

So when I got that nasty cold, instead of reasoning it out—“I’m not that tired, others have it lots worse, there’s no reason I can’t do XYZ”—I just rested when I felt tired. One day, I went home after work and slept for almost fourteen hours. But I needed that rest, and it helped me beat my cold symptoms.

Because the biggest lesson burnout taught me, a lesson I couldn’t make out in the thick of it, is that it doesn’t have to make sense. If I try to make it all make sense, I’ll burn out over and over again.

I accepted that I was tired.

And even if it didn’t make “sense,” I gave myself what I needed. To get better from my cold, I rested when I felt tired. To recover from my reading slump, I chose books that interested me and ignored the ones I didn’t. I didn’t worry about what all I “should do” (alright, I did try, but it didn’t succeed this time).

Sometimes we Christians get so caught up in self-sacrifice and service that we forget that we can’t help others the way they need help, if we’re crashing ourselves. It’s a fine line. On one hand, we need to give ourselves what we need, things God has provided, things like rest and relationship and all the things that bring us joy. But on the other, we need to make sure we don’t ignore things God has given us to do.

I used to worry so much. What if I wasn’t following God’s will? What if I was sinning horribly and didn’t know? What if I was missing out on a once in a lifetime chance and had no clue? Burnout also taught me that God will show me what I need to do. I can’t ignore something if I’m not conscious of it. It’s not my job to make myself perfect, it’s God’s. And He can do that job perfectly—without burnout.

I wish I had it all figured out. I wish I could say I’ll never face burnout again. Unfortunately, I know burnout will come. It’s part of a broken world. But I hope that when it does come again, I’ll remember what I’ve learned. I hope I’ll give myself what I need and what God has given me to succeed. 

How's your September been? What do you do when you feel tired and burnt-out? Share your adventures in the comments below!

My job in elementary education means my summers are free. Sometimes too free. So this year, my friend suggested I volunteer as an usher at our local off-Broadway theater. I watched pets for income, but that didn’t get me out and about in the community, and I could easily hide away for my entire summer.
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Alright, alright. But the bit that sealed the deal? The theater was performing Beauty and the Beast AND Murder on the Orient Express. So I had two shows I wanted and a paraprofessional’s income. But ushers could stay and watch the entire summer season free.

So I ushered. And I experienced my first summer season. And I learned a lot about theater. But the funny thing is, what I learned there works outside the theater, too.

One: Give it a try.

The theater offered five shows this year, and I only knew two. But far be it from me to turn down a free ticket.

Except I almost did. The afternoon I ushered The Wedding Singer, I’d been dogsitting for a week and had car trouble first thing that morning. I already felt “meh” about the show, and a long nap at home was all too enticing.

But the free ticket prevailed. If I disliked the show that much, I reasoned, I could sneak out at intermission.
I didn’t sneak out at intermission. The Wedding Singer made me smile more than any other show. I laughed so hard I forgot all about the car trouble and my nap.

And I’d almost missed it. I’d almost stuck with what I knew.

Trying new things is easy when it’s free and you can sneak out at intermission. Rarely does life outside the theater work that way. But God will send opportunities our way. They might be fun things, like Wedding Singer tickets. They might be not so fun things, like car trouble along the way. Sometimes it risks embarrassment or disappointment.

But sometimes it comes with laughter. Sometimes it comes with joy. But first, I have to give it a try.

Two: Audience matters.

My first show, I smiled at the dressed-up girls at Beauty and the Beast. Then two weeks later, I was the only young person at Kiss Me Kate. Then a month later I clapped along with the dancing audience at Beautiful.

And I sat behind the theater’s high school conservatory group at The Wedding Singer.

And man, that conservatory group was the best audience.

They cheered loud and hard for the orchestra when most people just politely clapped. They laughed the hardest at the jokes. They gasped whenever a character gave a particularly good roast.

And that reaction is infectious. It was uncanny how one person would clap or dance or cheer, and soon it would ripple across the entire audience.

Who is in my real-life audience with me?

Someone who will cheer the overlooked or someone who’s content to politely clap?

Someone who will discuss the show with me afterward or someone who will scroll their phone at intermission?

Someone who will gasp and cry with the more dramatic bits or someone who you can never quite read whether they’re even enjoying it?

Someone who will laugh and find the joy, or someone who will complain about the seats and the people around them?

And what audience am I for those around me?

Three: It’s okay to watch the show alone.

The very first show I ushered was Beauty and the Beast. I sat with the usher who trained me for the first half, but at intermission, she announced that she had an appointment.

That left me alone in an empty row.

I’d attended this theater several times before, but a friend or family member always came with me.

Being alone was strangely refreshing.

Don’t get me wrong—there’s something beautiful and unifying at sharing a glance or laughing at the same jokes or reacting to a climatic moment together. I definitely wouldn’t want to attend every show alone.

But this time, I laughed at the parts I found funny without wondering if anyone else caught the humor. Nothing and no one else tugged at my attention. I immersed myself in the lights and the spectacles and the characters.

Sure, you need a good audience. But I also don’t have to be afraid to watch the show alone sometimes. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. Sometimes God gives us that space so we can learn things about ourselves and immerse ourselves in what God has done and what He’s doing. And then we can take the next show, the next thing, and share it with our audience.  

Four: Love what you love.

Beauty and the Beast was the only show I attended alone. But I made up my mind. No matter who I sat with, I would enjoy the show my way. I’d laugh at the jokes I found funny. I’d cheer for the characters I loved. I’d clap along with the songs if I felt so inclined. I wouldn’t get embarrassed if I cried. And I’d stand at the end even if no one else did.

I got to just be myself in a crowd of people who also got to just be themselves. And we lost ourselves in a story for three hours.

And something about being ourselves also unified us.

God created me uniquely and specifically. He created every other person in that audience uniquely and specifically. And far beyond a show, I have a unique perspective on the world outside the theater.

I studied Ecclesiastes over the summer, and sometimes that book is a downer. But scattered throughout it are these passages that remind me that God gives all the good things we experience, and that enjoying those good gifts is a beautiful thing.

I can try new things. I can surround myself with a good audience. I can even enjoy time alone. But a show only has as much value as you give it. Life only has as much value as I put into it. Let yourself experience the show your way, the way only you can, the way He designed you.  

Do you have a favorite play or musical? Have you seen any of the ones I mentioned? Share your adventures in the comments below!

I switched off the TV and just sat there in the quiet, absolutely stunned. 

Has a story ever done that to you? 

Maybe there was a twist that you never saw coming. Maybe the ending didn’t turn out the way you would have ever expected. I’ve certainly had my share of those. 

But even though this show had them both in spades, that wasn’t what had me thinking about it fifteen minutes later, days later, heck, even months later. 

And I realized that I thought of fewer Christian stories that had the same effect. 

Christian stories tend to go in with a message, answer, or truth they wish to communicate. We call it all sorts of good things, like being a light, or sharing the truth, or inspiring. The good characters naturally believe whatever message is in question. The bad characters don’t. 

Interestingly enough, secular books do this too. And when they do it, we complain that they had an agenda. But when a Christian book does it, it’s somehow uplifting and inspiring. 

In a way, it makes sense. As Christ-followers, we do know and are learning to understand truth, absolute truth. That may not be a popular idea, but it's just the way it is. 

But what this show did, and what the best Christian books have done in my life, is present a question rather than an answer. It looked at the real-world issues we deal with today and created authentic characters that fell everywhere on the spectrum. The “good” characters sometimes did horrible things. The “bad” characters sometimes did wonderful things. 

And it never quite picked a “correct” answer. 

And I was still thinking about it. 

And I realized maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want a story that told me the “correct” answer after all. 

There were lots of reasons this could be. I’d grown up with some morality tales of questionable quality that pushed me towards one specific answer. Maybe now that I was grown, I just wanted to push the limits that I never could before. Was I just trying to be difficult? 

Or maybe I just liked things that I could think about for hours and always have more to explore. Maybe I just liked thinking and imagining, and stories without answers lent themselves to that nicely. 

Or maybe I was just stubborn. After all, why should I trust your interpretation and your answers? What if I can do a better job on my own? 

Truth be told, it’s a little bit of all of that. But I think my reasons go deeper. And maybe they touch on some important ideas, some ideas that whether or not we all agree on, we can all agree we should think about. 

Not everything in life is black and white. 

That’s what I thought as a kid. I thought everything could be sorted neatly into two boxes, good and bad. If a book had more things in the “bad” box than “good,” it was evil and would surely send me straight to hell. But if it had more in the “good” box than the “bad,” it was therefore good. 

And here's the place for my little disclaimer: some things are black and white. 

But as I got older and experienced more in life, I realized life isn’t at all that way. There are dozens of contributing factors that lead people to draw the conclusions they do–culture, upbringing, religion, experiences. In fact, the older I get and the more I learn and experience, the less I’m actually finding that is black and white.  

Stories that exist simply to share an answer and leave don’t work because they don’t take the gray into account. Characters and choices are simply good or simply bad. And if they’re bad, they’re really bad. And if they’re good, they’re really good. 

But sometimes we humans do bad things for good reasons. And sometimes we do good things for bad reasons. Does that make us right? Does that make us wrong? Sometimes it just can’t be sorted into boxes. And those are the kinds of stories and choices that make us think. 

No one has all the answers. 

Something has always irked me about stories that set out to deliver a message or a truth. By doing so, no matter how well-meaning I am, it suggests that I myself hold the “truth.” And I don’t know, that always seemed a little arrogant to me. That, or it lent itself to imposter syndrome, because how dare I act like I have all the answers. 

In some cases, as Christians, we do have the truth. Some things are simply true. I know God is real. I know Jesus rose again to restore us. 

Here’s the thing, I don’t struggle so much to know what the truth is. I struggle to know what it looks like to live that out. Is this thing I want to do the right thing to do? That’s where it gets gray. 

No one has all the answers. We’re all just learning together. When we write stories that ask questions and explore every answer equally, we get to explore together. We get to learn from each other. 

A gift I don’t have to pay for doesn’t mean much. 

It calls to mind that story about David, where he was asking God to stop a plague and needed a place to make the sacrifice. The man who owned the area David wanted to use offered to give it to him for free. But David refused, essentially saying that a gift he got for free isn’t a gift at all. 

In the same way, an answer that’s handed to me, an answer that I don’t have to fight for, isn’t an answer that will stay with me. It isn’t an answer that’s going to impact me. 

Because I didn’t have to work for it. I’m just riding someone else’s coattails, hoping they know what they’re talking about. I haven’t done my research, I haven’t made it my own. 

When a story presents a question and an array of answers, with each answer having its good or bad, I have to do the hard work of deciding what I think. And that brings me to my final and most important point. 

Questions bring me closer to God than answers. 

While I love to think and explore, there’s another side of me, and that side loves black and white. All the time, I wish that God would just tell me what I should do in any given situation, wish there were some sure-fire way to just know. 

And that used to worry me. Because if I still had all these questions, wasn’t that bad? I wasn’t supposed to doubt, was I? 

But there’s something my momma told me that has stuck with me since I was about thirteen years old. “God isn’t afraid of your questions.” 

Of all the times I’ve heard teachings about Thomas (more famously known as doubting Thomas), only one has really stuck with me. The writer claimed that Thomas gets a bad rap. They pointed out that Jesus never scolded Thomas for having doubts and questions. He simply gave him the tools he needed to believe. And He stayed with him through all of it. 

That’s why I love stories that raise questions. This is why I love seeing Christian stories that raise questions. Because those questions create a space for me to come closer to God. 

Answers haven’t done that. Just getting the answers I want makes me feel like I know it all, like maybe I know better. 

But it’s questions that force me to admit that I just don’t know, I just don’t understand, and maybe I never will. 

It's questions that sometimes do the best job of showing​ me the answer. 

I’m still always searching for stories that will make me sit stunned after I turn the last page. But more than that, I’m still searching for stories that will ask the hard questions, present all the answers, and create a space for me to fight it out with God by my side. 

​And here we are, at part two. Last month, I dove into my thought on art, calling, and loving God. Now I’m here to think about loving people through messy fiction. Both these posts were inspired by my post back in April about my problem with the clean fiction movement, where I wrote about how I don’t feel the clean fiction movement loves readers well.

So what is “messy” fiction able to do that clean fiction can’t? And how does that all come down to loving people well, and ultimately loving God well?

*in Imagine Dragons voice* First things first--

Why is it important to love people?

I mean, God said so, so it’s kind of important.

But beyond that, it always amazes me how many people—whether they are Christian or not—have been hurt by a church or by other Christians. Some of that is always going to come with being human.

But when Jesus gave those two commands—love God and love people—He put them on par with each other. I talked about in my last post how loving God, especially in something as creative and artistic as writing, can be hard to wrap our heads around. It’s just one of those concepts that’s out there and sometimes doesn’t quite feel tangible.

Loving people on the other hand feels like the practical side of the concept. And in a way, it is. Loving people is how we love God. And loving God is how we love people. We can’t have one completely without the other one. We might be super kind to others, but if you’re not loving God, it will always be missing something. On the other hand, you might be super close to God, but if you’re not loving people, something will always be holding you back. They’re not exclusive concepts. You have to have them both. And people tend to get hurt when you have one but not the other.

So how can a messy story do that? How does a messy story show love for someone else? How do I decide if something is helping me love others well?

For me, a story that loves someone well is a story that makes a reader feel seen or included. It’s a story where even if I don’t have shared experience with the character, it helps me understand others in my life a little bit better.

It’s a story that represents everyone and tackles the messy topics. It’s writers who are willing to be a little bit uncomfortable with the topics they broach and the words they put to paper. They’re stories that make sure everyone has the chance to see themselves in a Christian story, no matter their background.

But these stories don’t shy away from telling the truth. Providing entertainment without anything deeper would be a disservice to the reader. And avoiding hard truths is allowing them to walk into danger unarmed. It’s a writer that pulls truth from God alone, not their own opinions or stereotypes.

On the other hand, it doesn’t beat the readers over the head with whatever the author decided is truth. It communicates its truth in thoughtful ways, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions. In the best cases, it allows the reader to take their own paths of thoughts with God.

They’re stories that shake the comfortable. Within Christian fiction, it’s going to be the authors that challenge stereotypes and make readers think. Within general fiction, it’s going to be the authors that unapologetically include God, even if their approach is more subtle and nuanced.

These stories go where their readers go. They stay there with them. Maybe they point out a thing or two along the path. And they wait even while the reader struggles, no matter how long that may be.

These are the stories that have had an impact on my life. These are the stories that are still impacting me to this day. And these are the stories I want to write. 

Last month, I closed out my post with sharing how some simple advice—love God, love people—has set me free in the choices I make surrounding my reading, watching, and writing.

And honestly, it’s just such a good idea, I wanted to go more into it. Because while it’s a good idea and a freeing concept, maybe it also seems a little vague. We hear the phrase “love God, love people” all the time in church, so maybe the phrase has lost a little bit of its sparkle. It sounds good. But what does it actually mean? How does it work?

And what does it have to do with art?

Love God. This might be the part that seems the most vague. Because while I know God is as real as you and me, it can be hard to figure out how to love something intangible, something that is so decidedly other than us.

A year or so back, the Young Writer’s Workshop did a course called “How to Find God’s Calling For Your Life.” I remember being so excited going into it. I was sure I was going to get the master key so that I could have the confidence for any decision I might make. For the first time, I would know exactly what God wanted me to do.

What I was actually wanting was a fool-proof way to make sure God wasn’t angry at me.

Ambitious, perhaps. But in a way, that’s what I got. Just not the way I expected.

As part of the course, they interviewed Sean Crowe (father of author Jaquelle Crowe Ferris). I was ready and listening, waiting for him to tell me what I was doing wrong so I could find confidence.

But essentially what Sean taught us was that to a certain degree, I already know what I need to be doing. God is not some mystical, secret being who’s making me guess what He wants and punishing me when I fail. As long as I’m staying in relationship with Him, as long as I want to do his will, then I can know for sure that we’re okay. If I’m facing a decision, then He has given me the knowledge I need to make this decision now.

It’s a constant lifetime of learning more. Maybe the decisions I make today aren’t the same decisions I’ll make ten years from now. But if God allows me to make a decision, then there is a purpose for it.

In a lot of cases, Sean explained, our decisions are between two equally good things. If it were between a good thing and a bad thing, the decision may not be easy, but it is fairly certain. It’s easy to identify the good option.

Choosing between two good things is harder. And Sean reminded us that it is okay to choose a good thing simply because we want it.

It seemed a little sacrilegious to me at the time. I think we have the idea that to love God, we have to give up something constantly. I definitely had this idea. And there are times we’re called to sacrifice.

But God has also given us good things to enjoy. We’ve gotten into the mindset almost that if it’s something that we want, something that makes us happy or excited, then it must not be what God wants for us.

But God is totally cool with us being happy! And something I hadn’t considered at the time of that interview is that God actually put those desires inside me and was working through them.

That interview was a huge step, not only in my writing journey, but also in my spiritual life. For the first time, I realized that God was not out there trying to find any excuse to punish me. Choosing whether or not I read The Hunger Games for instance was not going to send me to hell. And you know what? That did give me more confidence.

So, how does loving God come into what we read, watch, or write? At this point in my life, I just don’t think God’s going to send us to hell based on what we do or do not read. I do think what you read affects you and your worldview. I also think God gives us gut feelings for a reason. I think we’re perfectly capable of picking up a book and knowing when it’s not doing anything positive for us.

I think it’s easy to think that if it’s not an explicitly Christian book with a heavy moral that we can’t glorify God with it. But in essence, that’s limiting God to just one way of working. God can work through anything. And everyone’s relationship with Him is different, so everyone’s opinions on what to read and watch is going to be different.

God’s given you all sorts of things to enjoy. You’ve just got to choose which one calls to the desires He’s already placed in you, and the one that will affect you for the better.

This has turned out to be super long, so I think next month, I’ll dive into the loving people part. I think this is enough for now. If you’re on YWW, I would highly recommend you check out that interview with Sean Crowe (you can find it by searching his name in their content library). 

For a long time, I struggled with referring to my writing as clean fiction.

Don’t get me wrong—I do write mostly clean. For me, that looks like avoiding language and graphic sexual content in my books.

But then I’d see posts from the clean fiction community where they would describe any such content (language, sexual content, violence/gore, and/or sensitive topics such as mental health, social issues or trauma) as MORALLY WRONG and a GRAVE SIN.

But I hadn’t opted out of writing language and sex because I believed it was a GRAVE SIN. I just didn’t like reading it. So I didn’t write it either. Full stop.

And the longer I interacted with book reviews from the clean fiction community, the more I realized that I was cool with a lot of things they weren’t.

For instance, I highly recommend The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. It’s one of the best novels I’ve read dealing with toxic gender roles and religious trauma. It also so happens to have frequent language and some extremely intense violence and gore.

In the circles of writers I’m in, I interact with people everyday who would clutch their pearls that I would ever suggest reading such a book. And I also interact with people who have watched and recommended far more explicit, more than I personally would read or watch.

If I’m being honest? I relate way more to the people who are okay with a little bit more in their fiction.

I struggle to relate with the clean fiction movement.

Because, sure, my fiction doesn’t have language or sex. But that doesn’t mean I won’t deal with tough topics like abuse and mental health and social issues. That doesn’t mean I won’t have the occasional gory scene, or even go a little bit dark for the purposes of the story. And that doesn’t mean that as I grow and develop my beliefs and standards more that I won’t explore topics that maybe I thought I wouldn’t.

The clean fiction movement has put us all at a disadvantage.

I went into this back in my January blog post where I discussed representation in Christian fiction. I told the story of an interaction with a clean fiction reader who was outraged that a Christian YA fantasy had a character with implied sexual trauma.

A lot of us, especially if you grew up Christian or homeschooled, grew up in that movement. And that’s not necessarily bad. Especially before you’ve figured out your worldview for yourself, it’s important to have some reliable help choosing what stays and what goes.

But some of us were taught that ALL books that contained a certain content (whether that be language, sex, gore, magic, or any combination of the above) were evil. (And it might be for you, more on that later.)

As a result, I at least developed an unhealthy stigma around books that broke those molds. I couldn’t tell you why I thought they were bad. I just knew I would undoubtedly burn in hell if I even looked at the cover too long.

Is the clean fiction movement all bad then? Not at all. There’s a lot of people within the movement that recognize that their standards aren’t for everyone and that authenticity trumps cleanliness.

But as a whole, the clean fiction movement, as it stands right now, exists less to tell true stories without harsh content, and more to allow readers to filter out the hard things they don’t want to think about.

It looks good, though! They can display their books free of sexual content with their pretty covers, usually with flowers and cottagecore and such.

But the clean fiction movement has become about supporting untrue stories.

Hey. Am I saying you have to have sex and cursing to tell a true story? Not at all. I’ve got all sorts of authentic stories on my shelves that just so happen to be clean. But those stories are authentic because they were willing to wade into the hard and sometimes messy things. The majority of the clean fiction community is not willing to do that anymore. They’re more concerned with how much “spice” is in a book and what the curse count is.

Please note that I am NOT referring to all clean fiction authors. I wrote an anthology with clean fiction authors who all grapple with hard things in their stories. (Kellyn Roth especially is an amazing author who deals with sexual issues and mental health in her clean fiction, and I highly recommend giving her a follow.)
And I’m here to remind you that I do still write clean fiction myself! My goal is to write authentic stories that are free of ignorant stereotypes and harsh content.

Recently, I read a question and answer post where someone asked if a particular TV show was okay for them as a Christian. (The show in question had fantasy-world magic and dealt with social issues around diversity.)

I related a lot. As I grew up and branched out and began defining my standards for myself, I worried so much that a book I chose to read or to not read would end up sending me to hell. I didn’t feel like I could trust my conscience (which God gave me!) and know when to put a book down. Was I sinful and perverse because I could read more content than my peers without feeling guilty?

Of course, the post got a myriad of answers. Some said that what you read and watch doesn’t affect anything. Which I don’t think is true. I’ve written time and again about how fiction and how it represents real world issues does affect how we think about an issue, and in turn, it shapes the world we live in.

And of course, the clean fiction community swooped to the “rescue,” saying that they definitely shouldn’t mess around with such things and that it is a gateway to hell.

But there was only one answer that really stuck with me. And I think it defines really well what I’m trying to do with my fiction.

I’m going to paraphrase it, since it was a long answer.

They pointed out that Jesus gave us two commands—love God and love other people. So, they reasoned, you can sort out whether you should be reading or watching something and separate it from the hellfire anxiety by asking yourself whether the story in question is encouraging you to love God or love other people.

Thinking about that question might lead you to read cleaner fiction than you normally would. Or it might lead you to try some shows or books that you ordinarily wouldn’t.

In my case, answering that question is what has led me to largely avoid writing language and graphic sexual content. But it’s also led me to include other things, other hard things such as abuse and mental health and trauma.

I think that concept has really set me free. I finally understand why I’ve comfortable with one book and tossing out another one even though they have the exact same content level, sometimes even when both of them are clean books. 

Can we face it? A book can be as clean as can be and not encourage you to love God and love others. And sometimes, a book that’s a little messy can encourage you to love God and love others.

So, long story short, I’m still not on good terms with that clean fiction label. I write books that encourage you to love God and others. Maybe those books just so happen to be clean. But the squeaky clean isn’t going to be what defines it. It’s going to be defined by the hard and messy.

If you’d like to read the post that really got me started thinking about this, check out @word.journey.hope.ann on Instagram. Story Embers also has some excellent resources on their website and Instagram page that get into the nitty-gritty of the issue as well. 

Last month, I wrote about how I chose to allow myself to have fun. And it really has changed how I’m viewing life and writing. But at I’ve been thinking through those ideas, I came to another question: why do we so often assume fun things can’t be authentic or important?
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As a teen, I knew I wanted to write, but I wasn’t yet sure what that would look like. At the same time, I also had very strict boundaries on what I was allowed to read or watch, so I grew up with a lot of Christian films of *ahem* varying quality. There’s just not a lot of range in Christian films, you know? You can either choose “based on a true story” or “fictional person receives a fictional miracle.”

That’s what I had, so that’s what I watched. I’d finish a movie and go to write . . . and I just couldn’t summon the words. I mean, that girl in the movie literally had her arm bit off by a shark. And I’m just writing my Anastasia-inspired heist story.

I loved that Anastasia-inspired heist story. And I’ve loved what I’ve written afterwards. I find so much joy in those stories. But I wasn’t seeing many stories like that.

So I worried my stories might not be important. Maybe they were a waste of time. Maybe someone else’s story deserved it more. Maybe my story was just too fun.

And maybe, if my stories were too fun, I couldn’t glorify God with them.

The thing about a lot of those Christian films I kept comparing myself to? Some of them weren’t authentic.  (Please note that there were some notable exceptions to that rule.) As I became an adult, I was able to broaden my horizons and experiment with films and stories. I discovered what I really, truly liked. And I discovered what an authentic story truly looks like. (For the record, I did find quite a few authentic stories in Christian fiction.)

And they were fun.

How could that be?

First off, don’t get me wrong. There is absolutely a time to be serious. A girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark isn’t fun, nor is it funny, and it shouldn’t be treated as such. I’ve written before about how I want to tackle some really serious topics like mental health and trauma.

But I found fun stories that still dealt with those serious, important things. For instance, you’re likely aware that I’m a huge Disney fun. Even as an adult, I still love rewatching my faves. They’re fun animated movies, how important could they be? And yet, some of them still have incredibly deep, authentic things to say. (I could give examples, but trust me, that would become a whole ‘nother blog post.)

And after I watched, say a Disney movie, I noticed I didn’t feel that overwhelming dread. I’ll likely never be a girl who lost her arm to a shark, and I’ll likely never tell that story. But something like a Rapunzel retelling that subtly deals with a topic like abuse? Well, that’s not too far out of my league.

The best part is, I can point to so many “fun” stories that had a deep impact on me. And if fun stories had an impact on me, then maybe my fun stories could have an impact on others. Maybe it was important enough after all.

I think we have the idea that if something is too fun, then it can’t be important. And some of the most important things in life aren’t fun. We have to get up and go to work whether we want to or not. There are appointments to attend and phone calls to make, and we’d like to put them off, but we can’t if we’re going to be a safe, healthy person.

But you know what, there’s so much serious stuff out there. If I can talk about the serious stuff and add a dash of fun at the same time, why wouldn’t I?

Because there is so much fun stuff out there, too. And you know who put it there? God did. God dabbles in both the fun and the serious. So a story of mine can never be too fun to be insignificant, to not glorify Him.

I’m always learning things about my writing, and lately I’ve realized that this is what I want my stories to be. I’m all about the authenticity. I’m all about talking about the hard stuff.

But I also want to tell a story that helps you escape for a while. I want to write a story that you can return to again and again for comfort. I want to give you a little fun.

Luckily, I can do both at the same time.

Is there something in your life that seems too insignificant, maybe too much fun? Sure, my examples were about writing, but it’s not just in writing. God is the Giver of all good gifts, so whatever your fun thing is, it’s not too small or unimportant for Him. 

I really learn a lot from housesitting, everybody.
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Immediately after Christmas break, I picked up a dogsitting job that turned out to take three weeks due to a cancelled flight. My first five days there, I essentially got snowed in. And not the “snow day” kind where you run out to play with your family and friends. The bone-chilling cold and ice kind where you shelter inside with tea and a book.

All that to say, I was stuck inside for several days and unable to drive to go see my friends or family.

The week before the dogsitting job, I had gotten beta readers on my current project, and all of them, but especially my critique partner who knew my writing well, said that the characters didn’t quite click, that they weren’t up to par with characters I had written previously.

This was very helpful feedback because I’d been feeling it, too. These characters just weren’t alive to me. I wasn’t truly invested in what was going on with them, and as a result, I knew my readers wouldn’t be either. I watched and read all sorts of content on finding character voice, which helped, but didn’t quite do the trick. Because now their words sounded better, but they still weren’t quite alive, which is just unsettling.

But something happened in those days when I had to find fun by myself. I couldn’t rely on others to tell me what was fun or help me find it. I couldn’t let someone else make the suggestion and just go along with it.

So I read some books that I got for Christmas. I watched a Disney animated show without worrying if it was too silly. I gave myself the time and space to imagine and daydream. And as I did, I realized something else about my writing.

I was just taking it way too seriously.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s important to have goals. And it is important to take writing (or whatever job you have) seriously.

My problem was I was taking it too seriously. I was expecting other people to find the fun for me, or just rolling along with their definition of fun. I read other books that touched deep places, and I thought I had to be just like them if I was going to write something worth reading.

Especially with this project, since it’s a little different than what I typically write, I was so focused on what people’s expectations were and how I was going to fulfill them. Which was giving me a little bit of fun, but ultimately resulted in a story that felt inauthentic and characters that couldn’t click.

But as I thought back to earlier projects and how much I had fun working on them, I realized I was writing so much for imaginary other people and genre expectations that I thought were important, that I’d lost the sense of fun. This book didn’t seem like me, and I wasn’t having fun with it.

So I let loose a little bit. I read books and watched shows that filled my creative well without caring what other people would think of it. I re-read some of my older projects. And then when I sat down to write, if I wanted it to happen, it happened. Side character becomes a theater nerd? Done. Plot takes a turn towards the adventure-y side of things? Done. You decide to write the last scene first because this middle part isn’t working quite yet? Done.

And I started having fun.

Maybe you’ve been feeling really dry recently. And maybe that’s because you’re just taking things a little too seriously. Find a little fun for yourself this week. Read a book that you want to read, even if it seems silly. Choose a movie or show you want to watch. Do something you want to do. If you’re a writer, write something just for you.

And sometimes by letting up and having a little fun, you might find you’re able to take your work and fun more seriously after all. 

“Why do people feel the need to add things like that?”
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I love the writing and reading community, especially those committed to telling a good story from a Christian worldview. But every so often, you run across something like this out in the wild.

At first glance, the post wasn’t anything bad. It caught my attention because the book in question was by one of my favorite authors. I couldn’t recall any inappropriate content, and had even handed the book to my brothers (at the time, fourteen and twelve) without a second thought.

As it turned out, all these dramatics were all about a character’s backstory, where it was implied this character had experienced sexual abuse. “It’s a terrible thing,” the original poster said. “But why does it have to be in reading material? I don’t want to read those things. Christian authors shouldn’t put that in their story. Purity has really gone down the drain.” (*While I have shortened the comments, this is word for word what they wrote.)

I tried to scroll on, but I couldn’t quite move past it in my own mind.

Were trauma survivors truly so impure and dirty that they didn’t belong in stories? Did representing their struggles dishonor God somehow? Did those characters deserve to be sacrificed just because some readers didn’t want to think about the hard things?

Maybe you’ve felt the same. Representation comes in all shapes and sizes—race, body type, disability, mental health, trauma, and more. And for each of those things, there are readers saying it doesn’t belong. Maybe you’ve run across comments like this in the wild and wondered the same things I did.

I didn’t comment on that post. I didn’t trust myself to have the words. But I’ve let it rest for several weeks now, and I wanted to share my thoughts.

It is a hard thing, and that’s why it needs to be in books.

We were watching an interview with an actor from a favorite TV show, when the actor explained that he was autistic. I was sitting next to an autistic friend at the time, and they lit up when they realized this talented actor who was showing us how they learned to do all these voices was in fact, just like them.

Life is full of hard, challenging, and things that are just different. In the hard parts of my life, I have clung to books that represented what I was struggling with. Representation matters. Seeing yourself in a story matters, especially when no one else in your circle has experienced what you have gone through, knows what your struggles are, or understands.

Because fiction is powerful. The stories we tell ourselves, whether true or imagined, affect what we think, what we believe, what we feel. If stories, especially Christian stories, will not include a sexual abuse survivor (or anyone else who is different), then slowly, reader by reader, our homes, churches, and world won’t either.

We need to read about these things.

One of the hardest parts of that problematic post above was the “I don’t want to read about that.” How selfish did one have to be to tell an abuse survivor that they didn’t deserve to be in a book because they themselves didn’t want to read about it?

But the longer I thought about it, I realized, you know what, I’m selfish, too. I don’t want to think about the hard things. And that’s why I need to read about them. Reading them in a book forces me to confront truths that I would have otherwise left alone.

About a month ago, I read Suzanne Collins’ The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. The book is a negative character arc, so instead of watching the main character get better and stronger, you watch him spiral downward. You know that going into the book.

But Coriolanus seemed so sympathetic. I felt bad for him, knowing what he would ultimately become.

Until I reached the last page. No spoilers here, but in the end, it comes full circle and I realized Coriolanus had truly been that evil all along.

Not only that, I realized I had sympathized and related to him at some points. I had to admit that there were selfish things inside of me.

I didn’t want to read about that. But what if I didn’t?

*One important distinction: especially when it comes to trauma, a person may not want to read about a certain type of content because it triggers them. That is totally fine and normal and very responsible. I’ve always respected people who know that something’s not healthy for them mentally and set those boundaries.
But just not wanting to read about something uncomfortable isn’t responsible, or healthy. 

Christian authors should put things like that in their books.

Christian authors, more than any other authors, need to be putting those things in their books.

We know the God of the universe, the Creator and Ruler of all things. We know where our world is going, and what our eternal destinies will be. We know a Savior loved us enough to die for us, and we know how wonderful life can be now with Him. Why on earth would we not share that with the people that are hurting the most?

If we say they shouldn’t put sexual abuse survivors in their books, we are believing the lie that sexual abuse survivors don’t deserve Jesus. We are believing that people from a different race than ours don’t deserve Jesus. We are believing that disabled or mentally ill people don’t deserve Jesus.

Representation is not impure.

“Purity has really gone down the drain.” Why? Because a Christian author dared tell a sexual abuse survivor that they were seen? That Jesus was there for them too?

Sexual abuse survivors (as well as other trauma survivors) are not dirty. They’re not impure. No one asks for these things to happen.

Blaming impurity on representation is not only ignoring the real problem, but it is reinforcing a false narrative. Unfortunately, the majority of fiction, as well as in general, reinforces it as well.

Trauma survivors are often told or implied to be to blame for whatever happened to them, that they must have brought it on somehow, and they’re just being overdramatic. Do you see how hurtful that idea is?

The clean fiction movement, while at its core has good ideals, can cause this. At times, it teeters dangerously on the edge of cutting out everything uncomfortable, rather than truly cutting out graphic or explicit content.

A sexual abuse survivor is not necessarily explicit content. (Of course, it can be written in an explicit way, but representation in Christian fiction usually doesn’t go this direction.)

I am not explicit content. Neither are you.

We can't agree to disagree on this.

When several commenters gently called out the original poster on their problematic comments, the original poster responded with, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

With all due respect, we absolutely do not. This isn’t a matter of personal preference. It is not personal preference to tell a hurting person that they don’t belong, that they are dirty, and that you don’t want them. This isn’t something we get to agree to disagree on.
 
These comments made my heart hurt, because I see it everyday. Christian books largely don’t tackle issues like race, sexuality, trauma, disability, or mental health. While we may not have bad intentions, they’re big topics, and they make us uncomfortable, so we just don’t write about it. And by not writing about it, dozens of people don’t feel seen in the number one place that they should feel found.

These comments made my heart hurt for the person who posted them. What must it be like to go through life with such a self-centered outlook, missing out on so many good things God has given them in favor of their own preferences? It forced me to look inward and see the ways I’m exactly the same.

But this conversation also encouraged me. Because I watched person after person, writer after Christian writer step up and say, “This isn’t right. This isn’t how Jesus would treat people.”

*Quick note: luckily, the post was reported and an administrator in the group responded to the situation. I also learned today that the person has decided to no longer be a part of that particular community, so luckily, we won’t have to deal with that kind of hate anymore.

I’m grateful for everyone who stepped up. I want to be one of them, which is why I’m sharing this. It gives me hope for Christian fiction. It gives me hope that one day, everyone will be able to see themselves in a story and to know that Jesus sees and loves them, too, no matter what has happened to them. 

​At the beginning of the Christmas season, I went housesitting for a week, then dogsitting for the next. Since I had the house to myself, and it was Christmas after all, I spent the evenings watching Christmas movies. I tried out a few I hadn’t watched before, with one of those being Disney’s Godmothered.
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If you haven’t seen or heard of Godmothered, imagine Elf but with a Fairy Godmother instead. Was it terribly original? No. But it was sweet and funny enough that I was engaged.

The movie drew to a close, the sort where because this is not a terribly original movie, the titular Fairy Godmother would rather obviously declare the moral before the crowd. Throughout the entire movie, she’d been trying to help her assigned child (who now was a grown woman) to find her true love and live happily ever after.

Essentially, she boils it down to, “I’ve been so busy trying to force her to live happily ever after, that I forgot about living happy. Who am I to say what true love looks like? Maybe instead of telling others what true love looks like, we should let them show us.”

It was sweet enough, I suppose. But it left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth even after the movie had ended. It confused me. I had enjoyed the movie, so what was the hold up? Was I just being overly uptight?

Christmas movies can be like that.

Over the past couple weeks, I’ve watched some very wholesome Christmas movies. Of course, there are classics that have been around for a while. And there are family favorites that I have back at my house. But I’ve also tried out some newer titles that turned out to be equally good.

In fact, many of the Christmas movies that I love the most never mention Christ in any way. But even if they’re fanciful stories about Santa Claus or reindeer or elves, they still manage to point back to Him. (I’ve written about some of them, which you can check out in the Christmas category on the right.)

But every so often, one comes along that as much as you enjoy watching it, there’s just something missing in all the sweet. They say that the season is full of love and joy, but there’s no center there. Where is all the joy and love coming from? Are we simply expected to manufacture it? If I’m not happy at Christmas, am I simply not trying hard enough? What if the person who’s supposed to love me doesn’t?

The notion presented in those sticky sweet films isn’t entirely wrong. True love does manifest itself in a lot of different ways through family and friends. And it is good to be selfless and set aside our own desires in order to see someone else’s point of view. But rather than feeling empowering, the idea that we make the rules of what true love looks like just seemed . . . sad.

The longer I thought about, the more I realized that if I depend on someone else to show me what true love looks like, then I will forever be depending on other people to feel loved. Like it or not, I have to find true love for myself.

Luckily, I have found it. And I found it in Christmas.

Christmas is a season of love for a reason. Because on Christmas we celebrate when the Son of God, Who lived a life we can never imagine, left all of it in order to come save us. To endure a life in this dirty world and die in the most excruciating of ways. And not to leave us alone afterward, but to stay with us, loving us.

My love for others or others' love for me doesn’t keep my feet on the ground. God’s love for me does. And once I’ve got that, then I can show others true love, and allow myself to be shown love back. And it will be a non-fickle kind of love. It’ll be a love that lasts through the hard and the crazy and the sad. It’ll be a love that elevates the happy and the sweet and the good. It affects my writing, it affects my work, it affects my home. It affects every aspect of my life. 

I think the difference between the stories is where its love and joy comes from. In movies like Godmothered, it comes from within us, and we’re responsible for keeping it going.

​But in the movies and stories that have truly endured, even if they can’t quite name it, it comes from somewhere outside themselves, something bigger than themselves.