Writing My History in Pencil

On course-correcting and silencing myself, when necessary.

I was sitting at my least favorite table at my favorite local coffee house on a recent Sunday afternoon, tasked with writing the manuscript for a talk I would be recording a few days later, in the mountains of Colorado.

It would be my first time to an airport in over a year. My first “work trip” in thirteen months, a fact that is neither here nor there, but one I can’t help sharing. (This is what we do now. We measure everything in light of “then” and “now.”)

Writing under pressure is a curious thing. I dread it. And yet, the pressure usually works with me, rather than against me.

The question: What is Christlike welcome?

I’ve been bled dry, over time, when it comes to the typical textbook answers. (Thanks be to God.) I’m less interested in tidy bullet points or memorized story-lines. I want to feel the answers, in my body. What does Christlike welcome look like? What’s the temperature of the emotional atmosphere when it arrives? What did Jesus do? And how are we to follow?

My mind drifted back many years ago to a trip to Ethiopia. I was able to cobble together the bones of the story from memory, but was missing some of the meat.

I pulled up my old blog posts, ever grateful for a paper trail.

I found what I needed.

I kept reading.

I swallowed hard.

I Googled “how to shut down a blog.”

Sitting at the quirky, clock-faced table, I followed the quick set of instructions. And now, no one but me can access my blog.

This isn’t a permanent situation, though I imagine no one is particularly worried about it since I haven’t blogged in almost a year. Things have changed with time. Now, I send you these emails rather than screaming into the void.

In full disclosure, I’ve considered doing this for a while. When you put your heart and soul into digital pixels for a dozen years, there are bound to be things you wish you’d said differently, or hadn’t said at all. I’ve chipped away at it, running across old posts, cringing a little, and making them private.

I realized I need to take a deeper dive. A harder look.

It is part of my history, yes. I have changed and grown, and I am grateful. (Someone once told me, “God doesn’t change, that means we must.”) But I am not interested in perpetuating history that might, even in small ways, cause someone harm.

I was not as careful with my words, seven years ago. It was nothing egregious. But even thin threads of White Saviorism are more than I’m willing to ignore. It embarrassed me.

The good news is, I have the autonomy (and the responsibility) to check myself and make needed changes. I can decide not to cause further harm in the name of “it was a different time,” or plain, old nostalgia.

There’s a time I would have chalked this whole conversation up to “being too PC” or “too sensitive.” I would have said everyone needed to toughen up a little.

I am no longer that person. Now, I see tenderness as part of my spiritual birthright. I want to be quick to imagine things from a perspective other than my own. I want to be over-protective for the sake of my neighbor, erring on the side of caution and care.

It cost me nothing to push pause. In time, I’ll go back through the full archive wearing a different set of glasses than when I wrote it, and I’ll make some decisions. I imagine most of the posts will stay. But anything that might cause harm needs to go. I’m grateful to have my say in this.

I’m sorry for any of you who have read my work over the years and wish I’d been kinder, or more self-aware of my own power and privilege. Thank you for showing enough grace to stay.

Let me be clear - I am and will forever be interested in speaking truth to power, upsetting the status quo, and even sharing my bold opinions and spicy-takes. Just today I sat at a sunny outdoor table and commiserated with a like-minded friend about the fire and fight that burns hot within us both, especially for issues of justice. There’s a difference between compassion and meekness.

I have plans to revamp my whole website, and when it’s done, you’ll be the first to hear about it.

Until then, may this be a reminder that the work of self-examination never ends. It’s good to ask ourselves hard questions. It’s right to course-correct when necessary. It’s important to always be about the business of saying, “I was wrong,” and “I’m sorry.”

Cleaning up the past to better align with who we are now is not the same as cancel-culture. It’s not censorship. No one here is being silenced.

It’s healthy to keep nudging that needle, doing our best, knowing we’ll continue to make mistakes but that we also, sometimes, have a say in which tracks we want to keep and which ones need to go.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” - Dr. Seuss

Viva, growth! I hope we never stop. I hope I send you a letter in seven more years basically saying, “Shannan in 2021 = BIG YIKES.”

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A few quick things:

The Ministry of Ordinary Places is on sale for just $1.99 in the e-book/Kindle version. It has never been this low! If you haven’t read it, now is your moment. It is, quite possibly, more relevant today than it was when I wrote it.

If you’ve already read and enjoyed it, you can always leave a review on Amazon. This little step is super important to authors in our quest to get our message out into the world.

(I, of course, prefer positive reviews. But! Sometimes the negative ones are really funny. This is LITERALLY! my all-time favorite bad review. I cackle every time I even think about it. Enjoy!)

You could also share the sale on social media, if you’re so inclined. If you do, tag me! And here are a couple of photos you’re welcome to use, if you need one.

As for dinner, we had Pioneer Woman’s steak fajitas last week and they never disappoint. The marinade is a living dream. I like mine with ALLLLLL the toppings. And as you can see, I recommend tossing in some half-moon zucchini.

(I’m so sorry about the raw meat pictures. This is why my books don’t have pictures.)

And because I care enough to share, I need you to know that I waltzed into one of the many Mexican restaurants in Goshen, and walked back out three minutes later with this giant Styrofoam cup of salsa for just $4. It was delicious and feels like a really obvious game-changer.

Go and do likewise.

Nosy vibes always,

Shannan

PS - If you’re interested in reading my Christlike Welcome talk, I’ll be sharing it next week over at The Secret Soup. (Along with an important update on our infamous living room “futon” situation.) To become a Pot-Stirrer (yes, we named ourselves) click below and subscribe!