Epic stories stir the soul. The blend of joy and sorrow, heartache and victory, tragedy and glorious deeds awakens a desire within us to strive and fight and seek to do the same. So often epic friendships form a marvelous strand of these epic stories.

Frodo and Sam. Legolas and Gimli. Sherlock and Watson. Merlin and Arthur.

Their friendships inspire us and leave us longing (or grateful) for such friends of our own.

(On a side note, I racked my brain for an example of a great literary friendship between girls, and the only one that I could come up with on the spot, where the two girls weren’t sisters, was Anne Shirley and Diana Barry. Maybe you guys can think of some? But honestly, I wonder if this lack of truly great girl friendships isn’t worthy of a post in and of itself?)

One of my favorite friendship pairs is actually David and Jonathan from the Bible. You see, Jonathan is an unsung hero. Compared to David’s many exploits (slaying Goliath, leading Saul’s army, playing a mad man among the Philistines—tales worthy of a bard!), Jonathan’s own heroic deeds are often forgotten. Ever heard about that time when Jonathan and his armor bearer scaled a cliff to single-handedly fight a whole outpost of Philistine warriors, and how God sent a panic afterwards that put the whole army into rout? (1 Samuel 14)

Pretty awesome, isn’t it?

In his own right, Jonathan was a warrior. By right of blood, he was heir to Saul’s throne. By all customs, the kingdom should have passed to him. But Jonathan was a humble man and faithful enough that he was willing to stand aside and recognize God’s sovereignty over David’s anointing as king in his stead.

He sacrificed everything for his friend, including the love and trust of his own father. Many times, Jonathan stood before Saul and sought to turn his anger away from David. He brought that wrath down upon himself, until Saul in his madness sought to kill his own son with a spear. Even then, Jonathan did not turn against David, resent him, or abandon him. Instead, he journeyed to where David was hiding out from Saul and “helped him find strength in the Lord.” (I Samuel 23:16)

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “My father Saul will not lay a hand on you. You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you. Even my father Saul knows this.” The two of them made a covenant before the Lord. Then Jonathan went home, but David remained at Horesh.

I Samuel 23:17-18 (NIV)

To me, that is the true purpose of friendship. Encouragement and strength in the Lord. I think that too often in the world that we live in, encouragement has come to mean nothing but “feel-good” words that are often empty and ultimately meaningless. But the word courage is found in encouragement. It bears the connotation of rallying, of strengthening, of girding up and supplying confidence and boldness, as if for the fight.

And especially when we encourage our friends in the Lord and help them find strength in Him. I love that picture! This concept where friendship is like standing in the gap of the shield wall, of stepping forward when your friend falls down. Of spurring your friends on to better and braver deeds. Of speaking truth to their souls when the night closes in.

Words are powerful. As readers and writers and lovers of words, we know that. But so often in this digital world of ours, where we can hide behind screens and online personas, people seem to forget. So many of the things that are typed online would not be said face to face. Kindness flies out the window. Courtesy is unknown. And the urge to tear down instead of building up wins the day.

But it isn’t always like that. Recently, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to see the fruit of encouragement in my own life. Faithful friends who wrote a letter at just the right time. Readers who took a moment out of their own busy lives to type an email. It’s a simple thing, and yet it means so much to have this reminder that I’m not alone, that there is someone who has my back, who will fight at my side, and will stand in the gap when I can stand no more.

Recognizing the impact that those words have had in my life, I have started to seek out opportunities to do the same. And do you know what? It takes very little effort—in the grand scheme of things—to send an email, pen a note, or text an encouraging word that can embolden someone to stand strong and carry on throughout the day.

And let us not forget the other side of this: strengthening one another in the Lord. How do we do that? By being open and vulnerable with one another. By bearing witness to the awesome things that God has done in our lives and pointing others to view His faithfulness. By standing upon God’s Word and the promises within and helping our friends to do the same.

Let us be brothers and sisters in arms. Let us stand side by side in the shield wall, stepping forward to protect one another and to encourage one another to rise!

---

Your turn! I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments:

• Who are your favorite literary friendships?
• Has someone been this type of friend for you lately, encouraging you and strengthening you in the Lord?
• What are some ways that you can encourage and strengthen others today?

It is strange to me that we are already nearing the end of the month of January. Somehow, the end of last year slipped away when I wasn’t looking. Before I knew it, I was flying out on what has become an annual trip to Haiti to help run a day camp. That week and a half rushed past in a blur too—a blur of beautiful, laughing children’s faces, muddy feet, wet leaves, tramping up and down slopes, breathing in Haitian coffee in the early morning and letting the heat sear through the mug into my hands, and feeling the sun fall warm upon my face when the rain clouds broke at last.

Only a week and a half. And it is gone already. How I miss all those precious little ones. Their hands slipping into mine. Their giggles at my broken Creole. Their enthusiasm at each new game, and the sound of their voices chanting Bible verses in song as they moved from activity to activity. It has been less than a week since I waved “ourevwa” on my way down the road, but it already seems a world away.

Until next year.

January is often a time to look back at the year we left behind and to look forward to the year that lies ahead. It can come with some trepidation. A thousand possibilities can be frightening as well as exciting. The year is raw. The soil is fresh.

The air is heavy with hope.

With 2017, I know there will be countless challenges, obstacles, and painful passages that will force me to grow and learn and be renewed … and oddly enough, I am excited about it. How about you?

Last year, I started in on a series of posts – A Thousand Words, Live, Undaunted – that I very much enjoyed writing, although I didn’t get very far. I intend to carry on with the series, from time to time this year, as the mood strikes. As much as I am drawn to the idea of selecting one incredible word for the year, I can never seem to limit myself to just one.  One word is not enough to encapsulate all of the adventures, challenges, and beauty that have come already, and that I hope are still to come in this year.

Hope.

It is a beautiful word, is it not? A beautiful word for a beautiful thing. It is a candle in the night. An unblinking star high above the mist-shrouded world. A sprig of green bursting through snowbitten earth.

It is a thing of contrasts, both fragile and strong. And yet ultimately, transitory. So much of what we place our hope in and long for rests upon things beyond our control. Things that may be here today and gone tomorrow. Hope risks becoming as fleeting and ephemeral as a wish, unless it is rooted in something greater.

“God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for god to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” (Hebrews 6:18-19a)

In Someone greater.

From a purely earthly point of view, the country of Haiti does not seem to offer much hope. And yet, there is a hope beyond the earthly, beyond the transient puff of dandelion wishes. There is a firm and secure hope that anchors the soul, offered through the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And it is a beautiful thing, because in that hope is borne the death of fear, the release of chains, and the breath of new life.

Strengthened by this hope, I intend to venture forth gloriously into the wild unknown of this New Year.

Will you join me?

I always thought myself brave. As a child, I grew up on stories of heroes and heroines, shepherd boys and giants, hobbits and shieldmaidens, rangers and assistant pig keepers. They were the stories that shaped me, molded my character, taught me to be brave.

It wasn’t that I was never afraid. Oh, I feared all right. I feared large crowds, strangers, speaking in groups, and goblins invading my room at night. In fact, I slept with a little sword made of aluminum foil by my bed. My dad made it for me, handcrafted my very own Sting, and in the making he taught me a great lesson. Even though I was afraid, I could be brave.

He taught me that I couldn’t let fear control me. I couldn’t run from it. I couldn’t hide beneath the covers until morning drove it away.

I had to stand my ground.

And face it.

And in facing it undaunted, I could be brave.

It was a good lesson then, and it is a good lesson now. It is one that I, as a writer, have to learn over and over again. Each time I set my fingers to the keys, each time I open a Word document and stare at the blinking cursor on the blank page, each time I read the words I have written and wonder if they mean anything to anyone at all.

Maybe that’s why fear crops up from time to time in my novels. They are fantasy tales, so my heroes and heroines battle impossible circumstances, overwhelming odds, and the occasional monster. Plenty to fear, right? A different sort of fear than the sort we might face. But while we may not battle monsters of flesh and bone, we face battles aplenty of our own.

Recently, I stumbled across this paragraph while reading through the manuscript for book three of the Songkeeper Chronicles. It’s still in the draft phase, so this may not even make it all the way through the publishing process, but the words pierced me right to the marrow. I had reached a stagnant phase where I was writing purely to get words on the page, struggling to carry the story along, and feeling like every ounce of creativity had withered within me.

Then I read these words.

The griffin on the other hand, was very much alive. She could feel his gaze like a knife slicing beneath her skin. For a breath, he halted beside her, touching his wing to the top of her head. A benediction, it seemed. Or a comfort. But there was nothing comforting about the words he whispered in her ear. “Tell me, little one, when did you allow fear to become your master?”

Then he was gone.

And the cold of the night settled around her.

– Book Three, Songkeeper Chronicles

When did I allow fear to become my master? When did I forget to be brave?

Fear of failure can be a huge stumbling block for a lot of writers, I believe. (Though it doesn’t apply to writers alone.) Fear is a cage, whereas creativity is wild, fierce, and free. They cannot coexist peacefully. Fear stifles creativity, chokes it into nothingness.

So once again, I had to remind myself to stand firm. To face the fear.

And in facing it undaunted, to be brave.

I almost ran with the word fearless for this post, because we would all like to be fearless, wouldn’t we? Can’t you picture it? Standing atop a mountain peak with the wind billowing the hair back from your face while you scream your fearlessness to the skies.

But true fearlessness is rarely possible. Being undaunted is. When you stare in the face of the fears that assail you and choose to go on despite of them, to keep on standing in spite of them, to press forward through them, that is more than being brave.

It is being undaunted.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to let fear be my master. I don’t want it to slither in and gather me in its coils like a constrictor, until it squeezes every ounce of creativity and life from within me. I want to live undaunted. To approach each day, not with the expectation of being fearless, but of being ready for fear to come and of standing firm despite it. Looking it in the eyes. And remaining undaunted.

How about you?

Once again, things have grown eerily quiet on this blog. So much so, that I have to admit I’ll honestly be a bit surprised if any of you will even see this post. There’s a part of me that wants to apologize for the silence and promise to do better in the future, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it.

You see, I have been living this summer.

Now I can already see you all scratching your heads and smiling (oh so patiently) in my direction. “Well, of course you have been living, Gillian. We only like to watch shows about the walking dead. We don’t actually believe in them. Now run along like a good little author and keep the blog posts coming …”

Here’s the thing.

So much of our lives as writers are spent in our own heads. We walk around in a bit of a cloud—a story cloud, if you will. Our minds are wrapped up in characters who don’t truly exist, running lines of dialogue and conversations that will never happen. We traverse paths and wander lands that have never before been seen. We dream up life and death, hope and despair, challenge and adventure, victory and defeat.

It is little wonder that writers are notorious for absent-mindedly gazing off into nothingness, because that “nothingness” is filled with a world of adventures that no one else can see. Imagination is a beautiful thing.

But this summer, my friends, I lived.

For three months, I spent hours in the saddle working with an awesome wrangling team to teach kids about God and horses. I talked and laughed with kids and was reminded of just how precious they are in His sight. I watched students learning to live their faith day in and day out. I mourned loss and rejoiced in the community of a family that goes beyond simple blood-ties. And in the dark of the night, I bared my soul to the Maker beneath a crown of distant stars.

Each moment was a blessing, and each day was a gift.

In January, I wrote a post about how I couldn’t settle for just one word for this year but wanted to choose a thousand words instead. At the time, I had every intention of exploring that concept and writing posts about new, exciting words for the year as they came to me. Well, here we are, three quarters of the way through, and I am finally writing a post about a word. Have you guessed it yet?

Live.

Oh my friends, I want to live this year.

I mean truly live.

Live fully. Deeply. In the moment. Not just for the moment, because when all is said and done, that’s such a shallow way of living, and I wish to dive deep. To be wholly present in every moment of the day. To take it all in, breathe in slowly, and bask in the gift.

The world we live in is broken and hurting and twisted, and so often that’s all we can see. But it’s also incredibly beautiful. A breathtaking creation. Sometimes, I have to force myself to stop and look around. Not just to rush on in the hectic pace of the day to day, hurrying to get the next thing done and taking the wonders around me for granted.

If you ask me, we spend far too much time looking forward to the next moment of excitement, rather than being truly grateful for, or truly experiencing, the moment that we’re in.

I don’t want to do that anymore. For me, living in the moment might mean setting aside my phone and disconnecting from the online vortex that’s always trying to pull me in, so I can better connect with those around me. It might mean setting aside a good book (gasp!) so I can catch up with a friend and invest in their life. It might mean missing a blog post … or two … or several months’ worth … so I can engage more in the day to day, maybe have a chance to reach out to someone who is hurting.

And maybe even admitting this makes me a terrible author, but it might mean unplugging the writer side of my brain every now and then and emerging from the storyworld to live fully in my world for a time.

Time, my friends, is a valuable currency. There is no guarantee how much we have left. But rather than being frightened by that knowledge, I hope to use it to inspire me to live fully for Christ and invest in the things that will last, on the moments that impact my soul and the souls around me. I mean to spend my time well.

To live.

Will you join me in truly living this fall? Let’s be grateful for each day we have been given. Let’s enjoy each moment with all of the challenges, ugliness, grace, messiness, hope, sorrow and joy that come with it. Let’s live and live well.

Do you have any ideas for ways that you can live more fully invested this fall? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

 

I have always envied those brilliant blogging friends of mine who select a “Word of the Year.” Time and again, as I find myself scrolling through their beautifully written posts—most now several weeks old (apparently, not only am I incapable of matching the trend, I am also woefully late in seeking it)—I cannot help but feel oddly jealous.

They always choose such beautiful words.

Words like Fearless. Brave. Freedom. Breathe. Release.

There is so much encapsulated in each and every one. I would love to be able to point to one word and shout, “Here, at last, I have found it!” I would love to be able to look at the year unfolding before me and say with certainty that my word for this year is Hope or Courage or Peace.

To be able to do so would be at once exhilarating … and limiting.

I say this not to diminish in any way those who have found a word for 2016. I have simply come to realize that it is not for me. As much as I love the concept, I cannot bring myself to settle on just one. In the words of Brandon Sanderson, that master of taleweavers, “I’m a fantasy author. We have trouble with the concept of brevity.”

Why settle on one word, when you can have a thousand?

(And here my editor heaves a sigh …)

I have just come back from a short trip to Haiti and am struggling somewhat to reorient myself in normal life. The pressures of work, responsibilities, and commitments clamor about me, and yet a portion of my heart is firmly planted in that little island across the ocean. What words shall I use to describe my time there? I encountered so many things. Beauty. Sorrow. Brokenness. Joy. Life anew.

All good words. All true.

But if I were to give one word and one word alone to that trip, it would be Communion. For it was in the mountains of Haiti with the sun rising over the sprawling countryside before me, and the sounds of a waking village behind—goats bleating, roosters crowing, motorcycles sputtering, and pots clanging—that I experienced some of my closest times with God.

They call it a mountaintop experience for a reason, and coming down from the mountain is always a challenge. True to form as a fantasy author, I cannot help but picture that scene from the Silver Chair where Aslan has just been teaching Jill the four signs. They are in the mountains of his country. Before bidding her farewell, he warns her that remembering is easy on the mountain where the air is clear, but down in the valley, the air grows thicker, and remembering will become much harder.

Already I can tell that the air in my valley is thick with distractions. So much busyness, so much rushing around, so much to strive after. Perhaps Remember would be a good word for this year.

Or perhaps simply Trust or Follow.

Or Wait or Rise.

I am beginning to like the idea of a thousand words instead of one.

The year sprawls before me, like a wild and uncharted sea. I cannot speak to what lies ahead, nor would I wish to. But I can speak to what lies behind and the ways that the Lord has strengthened and upheld me in the past, guided my steps, and showered me with blessings.

Who knows what words I will have collected by the year’s end?

So whatever may lie ahead, may I say as David said, “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:13-14)