Powerful Writing is Emotional

A Dyslexic Professor Becomes a Great Writer

One assertion I insist on is that you can get better at writing.

You can.

That is what is so mind-blowing about the human mind God created. I have a friend, a student in my writing program who came in two years ago for help writing an important book in her field. She did not consider herself a writer, she did not like to write.

Though she has a PhD and has even written a dissertation, the fact is, she is dyslexic.

But our program is relentless about pushing, pushing, pushing forward through outlines, core messages, good sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and books, and anyone who is willing to work every week, will grow exponentially. This is how God designed us.

You think writing is hard, because you aren't good at it…yet. Start writing badly. Get feedback, and try again. Apply what you learn. Try exercises. Do copywork. Stay consistent and you will not recognize yourself. It's the principle of compound interest, and I'd be tempted to call it magic.

Laura (not her real name), is living proof. I'm going to show you what she wrote for our writing community last week, but first, I want to point out another aspect of writing. Feelings.

I always tell my students that we have to constantly be thinking three questions:

1. What do I want them to know?

2. What do I want them to do?

3. What do I want them to feel?

It's the third that is the most difficult to grasp. People don't change if they are not moved. Information doesn't take if it is not felt. Transformation comes when the heart gets engaged.

So we talk about how to help people feel what they should feel given the information. My key example would be presenting the gospel. How do we tell people that Jesus died brutally on the cross after being tortured, rejected, and mocked?

Most of us do not burst into tears as we should, because we are too used to the story. Our emotions don't match the subject matter. You'd need to think about how you write that for your readers. You know who did that well? C.S. Lewis. If you've never read the story in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe where Aslan the lion is dying for Edmund, go and read it and try not to cry thinking of our Savior. (Or should I say Saviour, since Lewis is British?)

But Laura wrote something last week that gripped my heart from the first three lines. I wanted to share it, because when she wrote it, she was thinking about "what to feel." She was deeply tuned in to what was going on inside her. She was in the moment with her piece and translating her heart to the page.

To see if you agree, I wanted to put it here for you by her permission.

YOU MEANT IT FOR EVIL BUT GOD MEANT IT FOR GOOD

I remember looking through the bars of my playpen. Wanting to get out. Jan, my older sister, a year and half older, was sickly and quiet. My younger brother, Jay, a year and a half younger was constantly vomiting. I was the only healthy one… but I never stopped moving… so I spent many hours behind bars in the playpen.

When I heard stories about what I did as a toddler, that playpen may have saved my life.

A story frequently told is while Dad was fixing our roof he left the ladder against the house to get a cold drink. At 3 years old I climbed the ladder and was walking around the roof saying 'HI' to all the neighbors. I liked people and to my delight they were all coming out to say 'HI' to me, too. I loved that.

Dad loved me too. I did not realize what a high price I would PAY the rest of my life for being Dad's favorite. Mom was jealous, she let me know she did not like me. One wise friend said to me, "If you came home from a hard day's work, which child would you pick up? The quiet sickly one, the vomiting boy or smiling little girl with arms reaching for you?"

Dad had nicknames for all of us. Young Lady was my older sister, Sweet Heart was my younger sister and I was Princess. My mother shouted at me one time:

"If you're the Princess, why am I not the Queen?"

So when my youngest brother was born severely mentally and physically disabled my Dad changed drastically. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. Mom in bed after a tough pregnancy. Dad called us into their bedroom and told us the most chilling message that ever came out of my dear Dad's mouth. He said:

"Your baby brother's life is a waste. He might as well be dead.
He might not live long but he will never ever be normal. Useless, just useless."

Our family began to seriously deteriorate after my Dad spoke those words. We were all stunned to silence at ages 6, 8, 10 (me) 11. Everything INSIDE of my mind and heart was shouting "THAT'S WRONG, NO NO NO. I am going to FIND out what's RIGHT, BUT THAT IS WRONG." My childhood ended that day. Our family was never the same.

Jimmy was in 24-hour intensive care at the hospital for two years. Mom went to work full time as a Golf Professional. We were told Jimmy would not live very long. But he is still alive. The cost to my family was staggering. I overheard Mom say it was the same as paying for kids in college at the same time. With four kids at home, I remember we didn't have a lot to eat anymore. If we wanted clothes, or anything we had to earn the money for it. I began babysitting to earn money to buy clothes.

We were not allowed to talk about Jimmy inside or outside home. It was as if he did not exist. This all seemed WRONG to me. Yet, I cared about him and was looking for a reason Jim was precious to me. I was his only sibling who visited Jimmy the first 30 years of his life. He is still alive. Now I had a mission, to find out the truth about Jimmy's worth. (Now I know I was looking for my own worth too.)

Mom continued her cruelty towards me and it became more apparent in public. As a teenager one of my best friends' parents wanted me to live with them. Mom said NO.

I filled my life up with as many activities as I could. Choir, sports, student council, music, cheerleading—I was doing everything I could to win Mom's acceptance and keep Dad's admiration. But nothing worked. Then one Sunday our high school choir was invited to sing at a local church. The preacher spoke about a girl from our high school who was starving herself to death because she felt rejected at school. I knew rejection, yet not at school. I may have seemed popular but when your Mom doesn't like you, it is normal to wonder if anyone really likes you. I started visiting Noel in the hospital. She lived.

Meanwhile God was moving in my life. I was invited to Young Life, a non-denominational outreach to High School kids to share the Gospel. It made me want to know God. So I tried to pray. I named everything I could think of and said, "I want to know you God. If you are real can I have you for my Birthday?" I only got things on my Birthday and Christmas and my Birthday was sooner.

The Pastor that ran the Church Camp thought I had saved Noel's life so when 23 kids tried out for 8 spots as camp counselors, he asked me. But on the 1st night of camp when they shared their testimonies, I told them I did not have one. But, I wanted to know God. At the end of the week was the commitment night on June 24th, MY BIRTHDAY! My first prayer was answered. I got God for my Birthday. I became a Christian.

I went back home overjoyed. So, I was shaken when my dear Dad laughed out loud at me and said, "You think you KNOW God!" I felt so alone. Now Mom and Dad rejected me. But I could not deny what had happened to me. Something changed in my soul. I was totally alone but I had God.

As I began to read the Bible, I found what I had been looking for…GOD LOVED JIMMY. God saw my brother as I hoped to find: whole, wonderful, and his purpose was Jim brought me to God. My family was built on a weak foundation. God was my new one.

Jimmy inspired me to go to college and become a Recreational Therapist to help people with limitations. After I was married I taught Special Education in public and private schools. Then trained future teachers to be Special and Regular Education at the university.

I got a scholarship from Fuller Seminary to be a Young Life leader. Met my husband Ted, who was a minister for 35 years. Mom and my siblings made fun of us because we were not rich and we lived a different kind of life. But our nieces and nephews loved us!

I wonder if all children have an undying desire to be loved by their Mother? Mom missed my college graduation, my master's graduation and stayed for 20 minutes at my doctoral graduation and left before it was over.

But I wanted her to know Jesus. I prayed for her constantly and asked God to help me forgive her. Ann Lamott, a unique writer said: "Not forgiving is like eating rat poison and hoping the rat is going to die."

Jan, my older sister, who was my mom's favorite, had an unkind streak like Mom. When Mom broke her hip and was in rehab, my sister sold Mom's condo and reserved a spot in a nursing home 10 miles away. Jan hired 2 men in white coats to pick up Mom and deliver her to the nursing facility and DID NOT TELL MOM those men were coming. My Mother fought those men; she thought she was being kidnapped. But the men told the nursing home she could be violent and they put my Mom in Lock-down Memory Care. Mom called me. I immediately called my Mom's doctor of 35 years and asked him if he thought she should be in Lock-Down Memory care? He said, "No, not at all." I was so happy to hear that. I asked him if he could correct this mess. He said, "I do not want to mess with your sisters. They are too powerful in our community!" I was stunned. I told him, "What about my Mother?"

After putting Mom away Jan left for her Florida condo for 7 months. My younger sister (who also lived 10 minutes away) refused to visit Mom. Mom had bought my sister Carrie an expensive home on the hill and paid to get Carrie's husband out of bankruptcy. We drove up to Cincinnati, fifteen times in the next two years. Mom was desperate to get out of Lock-down-Memory care and was calling my sisters 18 times a day but they were not answering.

God spoke to me. He does sometimes, but not often. He said. "You call your mother 2x a day for as long as she is in that nursing home." I didn't want to be abused by her words. So I set some boundaries. I told her "Mom, if you make fun of my faith or my family I will stop calling you. And I will not preach at you but I will naturally share the good things God is doing in our lives…I will not hide it."

I said, "Mom, I will call you in the morning and evening everyday but I will not answer 18 calls a day." I spoke to my mother two times a day almost every day for two years.

God made it clear IF my two sisters had not rejected Mom, she would not have been open to me.

The biggest miracle happened. After talking to my Mom, my mean Mom, for 18 months twice a day she became a Christian. The same Mom who had made fun of my faith for 50 years. I knew it was real when I called her one day and said as usual "How are you this morning Mom?" She said, "I have been talking to Jesus."

I had never heard her mention Jesus in my whole life. I could not speak. She said "I really enjoyed talking to Him." When I found my voice I said, "Mom I can send you Bibles, books, literature, videos—anything you want about Jesus. What makes you feel closer to Him?" She said, "Really, my favorite is when you talk about Him and what he is doing in your and Ted's life." God knew what He was doing telling me to call my mean old Mom. A miracle, truly a Miracle. Mom would be in Heaven for eternity. Hallelujah God answers 50-year prayers.

YOU MEANT IT FOR EVIL BUT GOD MEANT IT FOR GOOD.

With that, dig into your heart and write something that moves us. Thank you for reading and God bless you.

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