LEGACY
I worry about the rubble:
the faded ink, the torn pages.
Is the rumored whimper
of the world as it dies
really the quiet mewl of
long-forgotten stories?
More poems and stories at jackieleasommers.com/writer.
Image credit: Engelhardt Photography
In the past seven months, I have realized just how courageous a writer needs to be.
Brave enough to attempt to make something out of nothing.
Brave enough to seek out feedback and criticism on a wild, unruly word-child.
Brave enough to face heartbreaking rejection from agents and editors.
Brave enough to consider a whole new direction for the story or poem.
Brave enough to allow readers to love or hate your baby.
Since I underwent ERP, I haven’t been so afraid as after I got my contract.
Nor have I been so courageous.
Image credit: Unsplash
Good thoughts.
We elders—what kind of a handle is this, anyway, halfway between a tree and an eel?—we elders have learned a thing or two, including invisibility. Here I am in a conversation with some trusty friends—old friends but actually not all that old: they’re in their sixties—and we’re finishing the wine and in serious converse about global warming in Nyack or Virginia Woolf the cross-dresser. There’s a pause, and I chime in with a couple of sentences. The others look at me politely, then resume the talk exactly at the point where they’ve just left it. What? Hello? Didn’t I just say something? Have I left the room? Have I experienced what neurologists call a TIA—a transient ischemic attack? I didn’t expect to take over the chat but did await a word or two of response. Not tonight, though. (Women I know say that this began to happen to them when…
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My friend Tony (who blogs over at A Way With Words) gifted me with a copy of his book, Delight in Disorder: Ministry, Madness, Mission. It is part-memoir, part-devotional, and entirely remarkable.
The book tells of Tony’s journey with bipolar disorder and God, and while I don’t have bipolar disorder, I do understand the darkness of mental illness … and the beauty of a sovereign savior.
Tony frames the book by walking us through his “home”– stories about his family in the “family room,” the devastating lows of a suicide attempt in the “basement,” etc.– and prefaces each short devotional thought with a quote from the Psalms.
From this book, I feel like I have a better understanding of bipolar disorder and a deepened appreciation for a God who pursues his people. I related to so many of Tony’s experiences, and thought the book gave a fair treatment to the church, which sometimes hurts its mentally ill members in such harmful ways but also sometimes so beautifully reflects the flabbergasting self-sacrifice and kindness of Christ. The writing is honest, humble, and vulnerable without ever feeling self-indulgent.
I recommend this book to Christians who are struggling with a mental illness– and to the people who love them.
Delight in Disorder: Ministry, Madness, Mission can be purchased through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.
Some of you remember when I interviewed Hannah, a former HOCD sufferer, on my blog.
Hannah is open to a second interview, if there are enough questions from blog readers. First, if you haven’t already read her first interview, read it at the link above. Then leave your questions for Hannah in the comments below.
I’ll curate.
I’m not going to link to Ruth Graham’s article on Slate because it was ridiculous (adults should be embarrassed to read YA fiction … give me a break).
Nor am I going to add to the multitude of (quite excellent) rebuttals.
I just wanted to say why I love reading and writing quality young adult literature.
It’s because of the wonder. The stories are so exploratory, so youthful, so for-the-first-time. There’s discovery, deep thought, processing, amazement. I love the awe, the fascination, and even the acuteness of the pain. (As Cat Stevens would remind us, The first cut is the deepest.)
Don’t think I’m implying that adult literature doesn’t or can’t have these things too. My only point is that they’re pretty inherent in YA, and I love that about it.
Image credit: Misko, cropped by me
JACKIE LEA SOMMERS 