Apr 24 2013

Learning to Fly, book review

Meet Steph Davis, whose memoir Learning to Fly: An Uncommon Memoir of Human Flight, Unexpected Love, and One Amazing Dog just went live. Take three minutes to watch her in action. This is what she does for a living. And because she loves it. Amazing.

About this book: Steph Davis is a superstar in the climbing community and has ascended some of the world’s most awe-inspiring peaks. But when her husband makes a controversial climb in a national park, the media fallout—and the toll it takes on her marriage—suddenly leaves her without a partner, a career, a source of income . . . or a purpose.

In the company of only her beloved dog, Fletch, Davis sets off on a search for a new identity and discovers skydiving. Though falling out of an airplane is completely antithetical to the climber’s control she’d practiced for so long, she turns each daring jump into an opportunity to fly, first as a skydiver, then as a base jumper, and finds herself indelibly changed. As she opens herself to falling, she also finds the strength to open herself to love again, even in the wake of heartbreak. And before too long, she fortuitously meets someone who shares her passions.

Learning to Fly is Davis’s fascinating account of her transformation. From her early tentative skydives, to zipping into her first wingsuit, to surviving devastating accidents against the background of breathtaking cliffs, to soaring beyond her past limits, she discovers new hope and joy in letting go. Learning to Fly isn’t just an adventure but a woman’s story of risk-taking and self-discovery, with love at its heart.

Genre: Memoir/Autobiography

Judge this book by its cover? The front artwork wouldn’t have persuaded me to pick it up, but the back photo, which shows Davis free soloing up a sheer rock face, would have piqued my interest.

Reminds me of…Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Coast Trail by Cheryl Strayed. North of Hope: A Daughter’s Arctic Journey by Shannon Polson.

Buy or borrow? Buy if you enjoy memoirs, stories about overcoming, extreme sports.

Why did I read this book? Received it from Touchstone for review.

Rating: 4/5 stars. An uncommon answer to universal questions.

My take: After being hit by a series of crises, Steph Davis knew she had to take a giant step back and retool. And though her particular situation might not be one everyone can identify with, her general quandary is: “Whatever might happen in life,” Steph Davis writes, “whether I liked it or didn’t like it, I could know one thing for sure: it would change. There was absolute certainty in uncertainty.”

Davis writes in a spare style, which you might expect from a woman who quit law school to pursue the ascetic, living-out-of-a-trunk lifestyle of a climber. She also writes with a refreshingly clean voice. Unlike many contemporary memoirs, you’ll find nothing off-color within these pages. It’s not a tell-all. She doesn’t even mention her ex-husband’s first name into well into her story. On the contrary, Davis is unfailingly modest about herself and kind about others.

She includes more detail about climbing, wingsuits, skydiving and base jumping that most of us will ever need to know. But she also writes so poignantly about her beloved pooch, Fletcher, that it made me teary at times. “Fletch had a spirit so strong it put me to shame. I watched her closely…because she was showing me yet again the right way to live–never giving up, doing the best she could, with a smile on her face….She loved the moments of her life.”

All in all, Learning to Fly is a provocative, thoughtful memoir about finding the courage to name our fears, to face them down, and to always, always be willing to try something new.

Thanks to Touchstone/Simon & Schuster for providing me a copy to review. All opinions are mine.

For more fascinating info about Steph Davis, visit her online at (what else?) highinfatuation.com.

And stay tuned. On Friday, my review of Get Back Up: Trusting God When Life Knocks You Down.

Feb 1 2013

Home Is Where the Suitcases Are, featured story

Two years ago this month, Marilyn Beckwith, a dear friend and gifted writer, passed away. One year ago, I helped her family see her story published posthumously.

To honor these anniversaries, I’m featuring Marilyn’s wonderful memoir, Home Is Where the Suitcases Are, and running a giveaway in her honor. More on the giveaway in a minute, but first, about the book…

In the early 1970s, after a year of unemployment, Marilyn Beckwith was in desperate need for change in her life. With her characteristic joie de vivre, she started a new life on a new continent—and didn’t look back. In 1971, she and her husband moved to Africa with their four children, armed with not much more than a penchant for adventure and a sense of humor. They started their African adventures in Kenya, and they tried life in Zaire (now Congo).

Marilyn was called to build a home for her family on the local economy, unsupported by any embassy or company. While steadfastly holding on to her values, she faced a steep learning curve in adjusting to the African rhythms of life. She gamely coped with challenges, from the mundane to the miraculous, including bridging food shortages, navigating the fringes of diplomatic life, out-smarting a mischievous chimpanzee, and adapting to new languages:
“Madame, you speak French like a Zairean.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Madame, that was not a compliment!”

With wry and sometimes irreverent humor, Marilyn draws readers into an international adventure that transcends era.

After living in Africa, Marilyn worked as a writer and editor for the National Iranian Television Network in Tehran. Over the course of her husband’s fifty-year aviation career, she lived in nine countries. They retired near Seattle, where she died in 2011.

I loved working on Marilyn’s memoir and now it’s my privilege to share it with you.

The giveaway: to receive a copy of Marilyn’s memoir, simply leave a comment on this post. (Continental U.S. residents only, please. While supplies last.) Special thanks to the Beckwith family, whose generosity makes this giveaway possible.

Dec 7 2012

Kim Galgano, featured storyteller

Kim with daughter, Maggie

Kim Galgano loves people. She also loves Jesus. In her longing to join these two loves, she founded the ministry Chicks with Choices, whose mission is to help women understand the importance of choice and to help them uncover their unique paths. As a speaker, one of Kim’s favorite tools is storytelling–which is why I invited her to share with us today.

A Little Girl Story by Kim Galgano

“Mommy? Please tell me a story from when you were a little girl,” my daughter asks each time we hike through endless evergreen trails in our Pacific Northwest woods.

I know why she asks.

My stories connect her little heart to her mother’s bigger heart, a reminder that mine was once little too. She tramps along beside me thinking, My mom lived, felt, and made mistakes just as I do today.

Maggie’s favorite story from my childhood is the one about when I as a third grader walked to school with a neighbor girl, a fifth grader. This older girl and I stopped each day by the Acme supermarket where my neighbor would slyly pocket a giant-sized Hershey candy bar. I never stole the chocolate myself, but during the last leg of our route toward school, I’d stuff whatever milky goodness my friend was willing to share. I never told my parents or did anything to stop her thievery.

I tell Maggie: Those were the years I didn’t know Jesus. Those were the days I stood for nothing.

As my young daughter grows, she will continue to need my stories–even though, keeping pace with her entry into adolescence, they will become more complicated–messy. But she’ll need to hear them, to understand the connection between my heart and hers. So I will serve those tales in careful measures.

Story is important because each is as unique as the one who tells them.

Strangely, each unique narrative causes listeners to feel united with the storyteller, igniting bravery where we too must be true with our messes, our own journeys toward redemptive interpretation.

Living within our modern world of unprecedented screen time… fewer walks among the evergreens… we need places of connection. We need one another’s stories more than ever before.

Kim Galgano is a Pennsylvania native who has lived in the Pacific Northwest her entire adult life. She is married and has three children. You may visit her online at chickswithchoices.com.

Do your children have a favorite story they ask for over and over again? Or, remembering back to your own childhood, do you have a favorite that helped you feel connected to a parent’s heart? Kim and I would love to hear from you today.

Dec 4 2012

Christmas Letters

The annual Christmas letter. You either love ‘em or hate ‘em. Either way, in the next few weeks, your mailbox is likely to be stuffed with them.

Me? I love them! (Tho’–true confession–if a typewritten letter runs beyond a one-sided page, I’m likely to skim.) I love collecting the mail throughout the month of December: the mounting anticipation as I walk to my mailbox, the holding-my-breath peek inside, the pleasure of returning to the house with a fistful of personal missives from far-flung friends and family. I love sitting down in the warmth of my home, in the merry light of the Christmas tree, to read the updates from folks I hold dear. And to gaze upon their photos. Photos! These are my faves, and after the holidays, every one of them ends up on my bulletin board, where I see them daily and am reminded of all of my best-loved people.

I personally gave up writing an annual recap of the year’s highlights when I had children. Ironic, huh? That after I had really interesting news to report, I no longer had the time to write about it–at least, not as an annual letter. But I am faithful to send a current family photo, usually taken on one of our adventures of the past year. I trust that a picture really is worth a thousand words.

I’m full of admiration for those who do manage to write a letter every year. I’m sure you’ll agree that the best ones are those that contain a fair reporting of the years events–not just the wonderful stuff but the challenges too. I also like the growing trend to invite the kids to write some or all of the family’s letter. Kid-written epistles give a year’s recap its own flair–and usually a few chuckles as well.

It occurs to me that if you’re among those who make it a faithful habit to pen an annual Christmas letter, you have an almost effortless way to document the landmarks of your family’s story. Simply a save a copy each year for your own files. After a number of years, you’ll have a small book that represents the years’ highlights. Include the same family photos you included with your letters, and voila! Instant family history.

P.S. If you’re not already on it, I would love to add you to my Christmas card mailing list. And may I receive your card too? Drop me a line at katherine.scott.jones@gmail.com so that we can swap mailing addresses. I look forward to receiving your letter, card or photo in my mailbox this Christmas!

Nov 27 2012

What About the Bad Stuff?

‘Tis the season to be jolly.

Or not.

Let’s face it, these weeks before Christmas can be a pressure cooker of expectations and endless to-do’s. Sadly, our consumerist culture has taken much of the peace and joy out of the Advent season, leaving stress in its wake. I wish it wasn’t so, but there it is. We can try to buck trends–and every year, I do, with imperfect progress, but that’s a topic for another time. Today I bring up the reality of the stress of Christmas for another reason.

What do we do when Christmastime arrives and we have real reason to be less than jolly? Maybe Christmas arrives following a year of unemployment or marital stress. Maybe there’s been a death in the family, or you have cancer, or a child has gone seriously astray.

What do you do about the bad stuff? Do you tell a friend, see a therapist, talk to God?

Do you write about it?

Many people have found that writing to be a significant part of the healing process after bad stuff has happened. There’s something cathartic about the process that helps move pain out of the system.

And in at least one instance, something that began as a private exercise ended as a public proclamation. Such was the case for Marie Tillman. Her husband, Pat Tillman, was a football star with the Arizona Cardinals. After 9/11, he delayed an NFL career in order to fight for his country. He died in Afghanistan in 2004–the result of friendly fire.

Pat’s wife Marie was only 27 when it happened. According to Parade magazine, she spent the next few years struggling to make sense of it all and go on with her life. Eventually, she took up her pen. ”I started writing without the intention of turning it into a book, but more as a means of therapy… Once I could put some time and distance between me and what happened, though I was able to get out there and talk to people. And the more I did, the more I heard stories of loss. When I was going through really difficult times, those were the people I connected with. At some point, I realized that in the same way other people’s stories helped me heal, maybe mine would be helpful for someone else.” (Parade, June 24, 2012)

Her memoir, The Letter: My Journey Through Love, Loss & Life was published last summer.

How about you? Have you ever experienced healing after writing something out? When Christmas arrives and you’re not feeling happy, what do you do about it? I’d love to hear from you today.

Nov 23 2012

Erika Carney Haub, featured storyteller

Erika Carney Haub

A few months ago I met Erika Carney Haub when she was the keynote speaker at our church’s annual summer camp. I was immediately drawn to her Jesus-imbued warmth, her passion for loving people, and her gift for storytelling.

For all of these reasons, I asked Erika to share one of her stories here.

Erika describes herself as the often-tired and always-blessed mother of three little gems, Mercy, Aaron Emmanuel, and Elijah, and the wife of Douglas the Amazing. She is a preacher/church-planter/writer, living in South Central Los Angeles. You can visit Erika online at erika.haub.net.

Erika writes:

I have a seven-year-old daughter named Mercy. When Mercy was two we bought her a little Toddler’s bible and she immediately loved it and always wanted us to read it to her. One of her favorite stories was of the little boy whose small lunch ends up feeding a crowd.

My husband, Doug, used to work for Fuller Seminary in their Doctor of Ministry program, and on the first day of a new class, they always provided Noah’s bagels for their students. One night Doug brought home a box of leftover Noah’s bagels, and so the next morning I offered my two older kids a bagel for breakfast. There was an assortment of flavors, and Aaron, my then two-year-old, chose the brown one, certainly thinking it must be chocolate (and even though it was rye, he ate it happily, calling it his “glazed doughnut”). Mercy, who was three at the time, chose a plain one.

Both kids were sitting at the table with their bagels, and Elijah, the baby, was strapped into his high chair eating his breakfast too. I went into the kitchen to make some coffee. When I came back into the dining room a few minutes later, I saw a bunch of little paper plates (that had been left on the dining room table after a church gathering the night before) spread all over the surface of the table with little pieces of bagel on each. Before I could even form a sentence about wasting the plates or making a mess, Mercy looked up at me excitedly and proclaimed:

“Mommy, I had a miracle!”

My daughter often reminds me what it means to believe.

I love how God uses our children to turn our hearts toward him. My own children often remind me of grace, love and forgiveness because they seem never to run out of these qualities. How about you? What do your children remind you of? I would love to hear your story today.

Nov 9 2012

The Gift, a story

photo courtesy www.publicdomainpictures.net

Thanks to Merry, who gave me permission to write her story and share it here on Story Matters. Because of its sensitive nature, names have been changed.

My fingers felt stiff and clumsy as I finished packaging the gift for my sister Stacy. Next week was her birthday, but neither of us felt much like celebrating. A family dysfunction had recently cracked wide open, and we were both still struggling to fit the jagged pieces of our lives back together.

Not long before, one of those shards had pierced me through the middle, landing me in the psych ward of our local hospital. The enemy had convinced me that I was no good, unlovable, a complete failure. Why not, he taunted, just kill yourself?

Memories of that place assaulted me, and a shiver coursed through me. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the day’s dropping temperatures or the rising wind. I would not want to go back to that psych ward, yet I couldn’t deny that God had met me there. And He’d spoken an entirely different message. I have life for you, He promised, life that’s not about what you can do, but what I can do for you. He opened my eyes to the abundance He sent Jesus to offer:

…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3).

I’d accepted the life-changing gifts Jesus offered me, exchanging my sorrow for gladness, and over the next few months, God often used His Word to speak radically transforming truth into the circumstances of my life. The healing process, however, was long and painful, and though I was now in a healthier place, Stacy remained caught in the maelstrom.

As I finished addressing my brown paper-wrapped parcel, my attention was caught by a clatter outside. The strong wind knocked over a full can of garbage on the curb. I sighed, thinking of the scattered trash I would now have to pick up.

Tucking my package beneath my arm, I headed for the door, deciding to first clean up the mess before driving to the post office. Outside, I didn’t mind the wind on my face. In fact, I found it comforting as I’d always pictured wind as something like the Holy Spirit–unseen yet powerful. I scooped up litter, and then one piece resting near my car made me pause. It was a page torn from my daily devotional desk calendar. I flipped it over to read the verse.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away (Revelation 21:4).

Gratitude filled me as I realized that God was once again speaking to me through Scripture, reminding me that whatever we suffered today will someday be no more. Forever. With a lighter heart, I went back into the house to slit a seam in my sister’s package. I resealed it with the windblown scrap of paper inside, confident that the hope of God’s promise would be the best gift for Stacy this year.

Sep 7 2012

Confessions of a Hypocrite, guest post

photo courtesy www.publicdomainpictures.net

My guest today is Jack Popjes, wearer of many hats who shares my passion for writing life stories. This post first appeared on his blog, Jack’s INsights & OUTbursts, which reaches about 1,000 subscribers worldwide. Jack is the former CEO and current national representative of Wycliffe Canada, speaking each year at about sixty-five events in Canada, the USA and overseas. He recently prepared the script for the JESUS film in the Canela language. You can find Jack at www.jackpopjes.com.

Confessions of a Hypocrite

If hypocrites are people who tell others to do something they don’t do themselves, then I’m one.

For years I’ve been telling people to remember the “God-stories” in their lives, and tell them to their families. I even do workshops in churches teaching people how to write them up for their grandchildren. Just recently I was sitting with my wife, dredging up some reminiscences when up popped a memory of forty years ago, with details we had never told our youngest daughter, Cheryl, who was the main character of the story.

When Cheryl was only a few months old, we noticed one of her eyes was slightly turned in. “She has a lazy eye,” the optometrist said, “she’ll need glasses in a couple of years to correct the problem.” As we left for Brazil a few months later, we committed our whole family to God’s care, praying especially for Him to take care of her eyes.

During our first session among the Canelas, however, an epidemic of trachoma swept through the village. Hundreds of Canelas suffered the highly contagious eye infection. We prayed much and brought in cases of antibiotic eye salve and bandages to treat the villagers. Soon each one in our family was also infected, first in one eye, then in the other. After we took off little Cheryl’s bandages, we saw that our toddler’s lazy eye had turned in noticeably. As soon as we returned to the city we took her to an optometrist who prescribed glasses and an eye patch to wear over the good eye to force the lazy eye to work. Each year her glasses needed a new and stronger prescription.

Early in our fourth year of service in Brazil we had an upsetting visit from our field director. “You are due for furlough in December,” he said, “but I strongly suggest you start your furlough at the end of June at the end of the school year. It will be much easier on your children if they don’t have to change schools in the middle of the year. I don’t want you to wait until next June because you are so short of financial support you are borrowing money from other missionaries to buy groceries. You need to go home six months earlier to gather more financial partners”

Jo and I were disappointed since we were making good progress in learning the Canela language and culture. But we realized our financial situation was not improving, so we left that summer. There was, however, another reason for returning to Canada early that neither our director nor we knew about. As soon as we arrived we went for full medical checkups, including, of course, an eye exam for Cheryl.

The eye specialist gave a sobering report after examining Cheryl. “It’s a good thing you brought her in to see me today,” he said, “her prescription is totally wrong and in another month or two it would have been too late. Her lazy eye would have gone completely blind.”

He prescribed new glasses, and an eye patch and spoke of surgery if that didn’t work. The new prescription, however, was effective and year by year her eyes improved so much that by the time she entered college her eyes were near normal.

Jo and I told Cheryl about this incident the next time we saw her. “You mean if we hadn’t been so poor you would have stayed till the following year and I would have gone blind in one eye? I never knew that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier!”

Yes, why didn’t we? Very simple, we just didn’t sit down and deliberately think through our lives and look for God’s working. Hypocrite that I am, I did not do for Cheryl what I am always telling others to do.

In this story, what a convoluted way God worked! Instead of simply healing Cheryl’s eye, either instantly or gradually, in response to our prayers, he took her, and us, through years of concern, eye exams and treatments. Then He used another very negative situation, our low financial support, to move us back to Canada just in time to get the right treatment and prevent total blindness in that eye.

There’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere.

How about you? Has your child ever said, “Why didn’t you tell me!” How did you respond?

Sep 4 2012

Why I Write My Life Stories

photo courtesy www.publicdomainpictures.net

In the thick of life, I’m not often thinking about the value of writing down my personal stories. I’m usually so engrossed in brainstorming the next chapter for my latest novel in between running kids to hockey games, ballet practice, and piano lessons while I attend church meetings and make sure homework gets done and dinner lands on the table (inhale)…that writing my own personal stories doesn’t usually make it to the top of the list.

That’s why I remind myself every now and again why my stories are important–and why I need to take the trouble to write them down. First, my stories are unique. Regardless of how I may feel at times about the ordinariness of my life, my experience is an original, never again repeated in billions of lives. I am positioned in history in a way that no one else is, which means that I can describe people and places in a way no one else can.

Second, as a mom, one of my primary responsibilities is to teach my children. Scott and I are our kids’ first line of teaching, inspiring, modeling. Telling our stories, letting them learn from our trials and triumphs, is one of our most effective tools. Then too, stories offer an unparalleled opportunity for imparting our family’s beliefs and values–for building our kids’ characters from the inside out. Why? Because stories have a way of sneaking through the heart’s backdoor. Stories therefore become one of our most effective instruments for change. Why wouldn’t I want to keep that tool in my arsenal?

Have you ever considered writing your life stories to be not just a pastime but a tool for your kids’ character development? Have you ever used a story to instill a belief or value instead of addressing the issue head-on? I’d love to hear your stories today.

On an entirely different note ~ This week marks the start of my official collaboration with She Reads, an online gathering of book-loving women who, like me, believes that story is the shortest distance to the human heart. For three years She Reads has hosted an online book club. Now, this month, they’ve launched something new: the She Reads Blog Network, which I’m fortunate to be a part of. In the months ahead, I’ll be working with them to review and blog about lots of great books. Consider this your official invitation to hop on over and discover what it’s all about.

Aug 28 2012

Flying High

photo courtesy www.publicdomainpictures.net

This week my kids go back to school. And while I mourn the passing of another summer (gone so fast!) with its relaxed routine, I can’t help but look forward to the more structured days ahead. Days when, in a quiet house, I can be pretty sure I’ll get some solid writing accomplished.

On the other hand, days of writing will inevitably bring moments of discouragement because writing doesn’t always go the way I want it to go. That’s when I need a boost to remind me why I stick with it. An occasional dose of encouragement to keep me flying high.

I recently received such a dose from a most unexpected source: an old college friend with whom I had reconnected. After graduating from Whitworth John moved to Texas, where he became a city planner and, for fun, a high performance race car instructor (reminding of the old bumper sticker: I don’t drive fast, I fly low). When I told him I had become a writer, he commented:

“Writing is something that transcends our own lives and reaches out to others both today and in the future. The written word is so powerful…and such a comfort to others. Those who read instead of watching TV are so much richer for it. As much work as it is, know you make a difference with every story you tell. And that the story need not always be profound to move people.

“I bet there are times that you feel like you are just on a plateau…much less exciting than going up to the peak and down to the valley. The process is like that in so much of life, isn’t it? With students at the racetrack, the excitement of learning the easy stuff often wears off as they become intermediate students. I find myself telling them that learning is like a series of steps…they may not see the progress but they are building the basis for the next breakthrough with every action they take, no matter how subtle. I remind them to take pleasure in the details rather than the giant leaps forward.

“We could all use a few more reminders of those good things we have all done in the past so that we remember why it really makes a difference to keep doing them now. I hope you will remember how much one person can influence another (and that, for the most part, you will never know what role you might have played for someone else).”

Who knew a racing instructor could have so much to say to a writer? I liked this reminder especially: to take pleasure in the details rather than the giant leaps forward. Ah yes. If only I could remember that on a moment-to-moment basis. My writing (and my life) would be so much the richer for it.

John’s insights uplifted me. So much so that I felt selfish keeping them to myself. So thank you, John, for allowing me to share them here with my readers. Your words gave me so much more than mere encouragement. They gave me wind beneath my wings.

Readers, when have you experienced encouragement from an unexpected source? What words have helped you fly high?