Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

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How to Chase a Different Kind of Great

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“Everyone is chasing status, but serving the vulnerable is wide open in every field.” — Andy Crouch

I’m intimately familiar with chasing status. As an author, I’ve spent countless hours strategizing how to sell more books, attract more readers, build my platform, gain more social media shares, and rub shoulders with influential people.

I could tell you that this emphasis on networking and platform is an integral part of my job as a writer, and that would be partially true. But that’s not the whole story. The truth is, I like the status that comes with being a published author. I like the recognition. I like being known. I chase status because I want status.

I’ve been chasing status for a long time, and here’s what I’ve learned after years of hot pursuit: the chase never ends.

No matter how much we achieve, status is ephemeral. We will always want more – whether it’s better book sales, a more prestigious job title, a higher salary, a bigger house, a more expensive car, or a fancier purse. Chasing status is a race we will never win.

This is a lesson that’s taken me a long time to learn, and truthfully, on most days, I’m still learning it.

In his interview, Andy Crouch noted that when we focus our tunnel-vision solely on being the biggest, the best, and the most successful, we lose the opportunity to use our gifts to benefit others rather than ourselves. So many of us it seems, myself included, are wildly spinning our wheels in a fruitless attempt to Become Someone Important. Yet in doing so, we leave in our wakes a vast expanse of potential to make a real difference.

Setting our sights so narrowly on reaching whatever it is we’ve deemed The One Big Thing means we often miss the wide-open field of less glamorous but no less important work available to us.

This kind of opportunity likely won’t result in being known or recognized or famous, but as Martin Luther King, Jr., observed, there is the opportunity for a different kind of greatness here.

Last week, as part of my work for The Salvation Army, I had the opportunity to interview Daniel, a recovering crack cocaine addict who is eight months sober, on the road back to physical and mental health, and, having recently completed training, about to begin volunteering as a peer support counselor. As we chatted, the mix of perseverance, strength, and humility I heard in Daniel’s voice touched me deeply.

Writing part-time for The Salvation Army isn’t glamorous work. The story I wrote about Daniel, for example, will be included in a newsletter that will be mailed to fewer than 800 people, and I suspect far fewer than that will actually read the article. That work won’t impact book sales, help me build my platform, or earn me any name recognition. There’s no status in this kind of writing. And yet, talking with Daniel and writing his story was some of the most gratifying work I’ve ever done.

A couple of Sundays ago in church I listened to a soloist sing “Go Light Your World.” It was Senior Sunday, the day we bless the graduating high school seniors and send them off, and I teared up as I thought about the potential of each of these young men and women to impact the world.

The truth is, though, the ability to make a difference has no age limit. Each one of us, no matter how young or old, has the potential to carry our candle, to “run to the darkness, seek out the helpless, confused and torn,” as the song goes. Each one of us has been blessed with gifts we can use not just to increase our own status, but to serve those in need around us.

Reaching out to the Daniels in your world and the organizations that serve them with your God-given gifts won’t make you famous. It won’t earn you a lot of money or accolades or notoriety. It won’t make you “successful” by modern-day standards. But this I know for sure: it will offer you the opportunity for a different but no less beautiful kind of greatness, the kind of greatness that will bless you unexpectedly beyond measure.

The Finish Line Isn’t Always the Most Important Part of the Race

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Last week I had to cut short an interview I was doing for my new job when I realized I was going to be late to pick up my kids from school. The man I was interviewing on the phone was kind and gracious, but still, it was an awkward moment, and I felt like an unprofessional amateur.

As I sped down South Street toward the middle school, my cell phone rang, and I knew from the ring tone it was Rowan calling from the sidewalk outside his school, wondering where I was as he watched all the cars pull up to and away from the curb.

By the time I got home from the school pick-up circuit, dialed the manager I’d interrupted 20 minutes before to continue the interview, finished the conversation and hung up, I sat back in my chair, sweaty, flustered, and limp with defeat.

Cleary this new-job-work-from-home-be-a-good-mother-and-write-books-too endeavor was not going to work. Clearly I stunk as a professional, stunk as a mother, and, having struggled to string together ten creative words all week, stunk as a writer too.

No one has ever accused me of being glass-half-full.

That was Friday. On Sunday morning I ran the Lincoln Half Marathon. It was a great race, and I felt good the whole way — my breathing was easy, my body felt strong, and I finished in a respectable-for-me time. After I crossed the finish line, I went home, posted a Facebook photo of me with a medal around my neck and my number pinned to the front of my shirt, and celebrated by eating a great many delicious and unhealthy foods.

Later that afternoon, though, I remembered something important about that race, something the Facebook photo didn’t necessarily reveal, which is this:

I didn’t cross the Sunday morning finish line without days, weeks, and months of training first.

Our results-right-now culture has us programmed to expect instantaneous aptitude, but the reality is, doing a hard thing like starting a new job, becoming a new parent, walking through loss, or navigating a new season of life is a process that entails persistent work, growing pains, trial and error, and both small and large successes and failures along the way.

Case in point: My final training run for the half marathon was one of the worst training runs I’ve had in more than 30 years of running. It was so miserable, in fact, that afterward, as I lay on the sunroom floor in a heaving heap, I announced out loud to myself and the dog that I was done with half marathons forever. Two weeks later, I had one of my best races ever.

Last week was hard as I struggled to balance the new demands of work, parenting, home, and the creative life. I was hard on myself for failing to do it all perfectly, and I assumed that because I hadn’t succeeded right out of the gate, I wasn’t going to succeed at all.  Luckily, a 13-mile race, the culmination of four months of training, reminded me that’s simply not true.

If, like me, you’ve been hard on yourself as you struggle through something big, hard or new,  I want to gently remind you that big things, hard things, and new things don’t magically become small, easy, and routine overnight.

The Sunday morning finish line is wonderfully gratifying and a lot of fun, but the days, weeks, and months of  two-steps-forward-one-step-back are what get us there. It’s the “pressing on” part, as Paul reminds us, that ultimately brings us to the prize.

Turns out, those hard beginnings and demoralizing middles might actually be the most important part of the race.

Why I Said Yes to a Part-Time Job {or, Let’s Talk Real about the Creative Life}

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When I left the traditional workplace five years ago, after ten years working part-time as a fundraising writer for Nebraska public television and radio, I never expected I would want to return to a “regular job.” But here’s something I’ve learned in five years of full-time writing: flexibility and an open mind are key to having a fulfilling, productive, sustainable creative life. If something’s not working, you have to be willing to admit it’s not working and have the courage to try something new.

As a Triple Type A planner, it’s been hard for me to live in the gray space of not knowing when my next project will turn up. Off and on over the last five years I’ve often been anxious about whether I would get enough freelance writing and editing assignments and whether I would land another book contract in order to be able to contribute financially to our household. I missed the stability of a steady, reliable paycheck (to say nothing of human interaction – turns out, the Beagle-Corgi and the Philodendron don’t quite cut it).

Five years ago, I also didn’t realize that a writer typically doesn’t get a book contract every year or so…nor should they (I know of a very small minority of writers who manage to do it, but the fact is, writing a book every year is nearly impossible). That said, I realized I had begun to rely on book advances as a part of my income, and the pressure to produce book after book was becoming increasingly burdensome.

Here’s the real deal, friends (at least the way I see it): unless you have a very large platform or have established yourself as a multi-book best-selling author, you are likely not going to be able to earn even a part-time living as an author of books without supplementing your income in a variety of creative ways — and even then, you might struggle. The truth is, even with three published books under my belt, several freelance book editing projects a year, a paid monthly column in my local newspaper, and a handful of paid articles every year, I was still barely eking out a very modest part-time income.

Please know, I don’t say this to deter you from pursuing your creative dream, whether it’s to be a writer or a musician or an artist or a crafter. We need to pursue our passions. I believe from the top of my head to the tips of my toes that creativity is imperative to the health of our souls.

All I’m saying is that you should pursue your passion alongside a healthy serving of reality. If you are looking to earn a living as an author, you better also have a strong entrepreneurial spirit and be willing to get creative with making the most of your skills in new and unique ways.

Honestly, I don’t have much of an entrepreneurial spirit. The idea of launching a series of web classes or an online membership community for writers or an I-don’t-even-know-what (see? not creative in that way) makes me want to shave my head, don a drapey orange robe and eat Godiva chocolate bunnies while chanting in Sanskrit. In other words, retreat as fast as I can into a monastic existence that also provides copious amounts of quality chocolate.

Alas, all this to say, I am thrilled to have accepted a part-time job as a writer for The Salvation Army Western Division! And despite the fact that I just dedicated the preceding seven  paragraphs to talking about money, money isn’t the only reason I am delighted with this new opportunity. I’ve been freelancing for The Salvation Army for a few months now and have enjoyed every moment of it.

Plus, ever since I wrote a chapter in 50 Women about Catherine Booth, co-founder with her husband William of The Salvation Army, I have had a tremendous respect for the work The Salvation Army does with the people who are most in need in our communities. It’s an honor and a privilege to work for an organization that for more than 150 years has been serving those society has deemed unworthy of support, respect, and love.

Add to that the fact that as I was perusing an old journal this week, I saw I had written a prayer a couple of years ago asking that I would find non-profit human services organization that would be a good fit for my skills. I’d forgotten all about that prayer, but God hadn’t. As God has fanned into flame my desires to serve others with my specific gifts, he has been moving me toward this point in my spiritual and vocational  journey all along. God is the best!

So that’s my big news. And just so we’re clear, I’ll still be writing here once a week or so, and I hope to continue to write books, God willing. Truth be told, I’m a little anxious about adding 20 hours of work to what already feels like a pretty full schedule, but as my agent Rachelle reminded me, I tend to be a person whose efficiency increases with my workload (thank you Triple Type A personality), so we’ll see. Something will inevitably have to give; time will tell what that something is.

Am I disappointed that I couldn’t make a viable part-time living as a full-time writer? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I’m also absolutely comfortable with and genuinely excited about this new phase of the journey.

The moral of the story? Pursue your passion with gusto, don’t be afraid to make mistakes (that’s the only way we really learn, right?), and know that there’s an infinite number of ways to make it all work. God’s in it, and he always, always has our best interests at heart.

Why We Need to Take a Moment to Call Our Work Good

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I recently finished up a busy three weeks with back-to-back-to-back weekends of speaking engagements. You should know, speaking is not my sweet spot. Not that I don’t love connecting with women – I do! I love nothing more than sitting face-to-face with another woman to hear her story and share a bit of mine. And strangely, lately, I really don’t even mind the actual speaking part. Once my heart stops slamming around in my chest like a caged lemur, I kind of enjoy speaking a message I feel passionately about to an audience. Sometimes it can even be fun. {Did I just say that?}

But the days and weeks leading up to the speaking engagements? That’s what takes the toll. I hadn’t realized it until this week, but it’s the preparation and practice, combined with the anticipation and anxiety, that make speaking extra hard work for me.

Because speaking doesn’t come naturally to me, I combat fear and insecurity with uber preparation. Honestly, I prepare for a talk for 15 women at a weekend retreat like I’m preparing for a presentation to the U.N. General Assembly. I write out my talk verbatim, and then I practice it over and over again in my kitchen until I nearly have it memorized and can present it naturally. I still have my full written-out talk in a binder on the podium in front of me when I speak, but by that point it’s mostly a safeguard in case of a sudden deer-in-the-headlights paralysis.

All this to say, when I finished up the last of my three talks, I was wrung out. Completely spent. One hundred percent ready for a plate of Oreos and a night of Netflix. And yet, instead of doing exactly that, instead of taking a moment to offer myself a “job well-done” and acknowledge and celebrate the fact that I had completed a hard thing, I catapulted ahead to the next project at hand.

In fact, at one point I caught myself feeling guilty because I “hadn’t done any writing in the last couple of weeks”– forgetting, of course, that I’d written three separate talks totaling more than 13,500 words.

Friends, this is not good. This relentless drive, this hustle to finish one project and quickly move onto the next without hardly taking a breath is not good for our bodies, our minds, or our souls. It’s exhausting  — mentally, physically, and spiritually.

I know this first-hand because the Monday after my third and last speaking engagement, I woke up feeling like I was coming down with something. My head ached, my stomach was unsettled, and I kept reading the same sentence over and over without actually digesting the words. I was distracted, vaguely agitated, and unable to concentrate. It took me four hours to cobble together a blog post, and I was frustrated, when, at the end of the day, my to-do list looked much like it had at 9 a.m. I’d hardly made a dent in it.

I realize now it would have been better — for both my productivity and my body and soul — if I had simply taken the day off, if I had allowed myself a bit of a buffer zone, a bit of space not only to rest and refuel for the next thing, but also simply to celebrate what had already been done.

At the end of each of the six days of creation, God surveyed his work for that day and deemed it good. At the end of the sixth day, after God had made man, “He looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31). And on the seventh day, after six whole days of work, after God had made the universe, the stars in the sky, the plants on earth and the fish in the sea, he rested from all his work. “God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from his work of creation.” (Genesis 2:3)

Do you see what I am getting at here?

God himself, the creator of our universe and everything in it, stopped at the end of each day of creation to look at what he had made and call it good. God didn’t plow ahead in a continuous frenzy of production, though he undoubtedly could have, but instead, he stopped, he surveyed what he had accomplished at the end of each day, and he appreciated what he had made.

I think God did this for a reason. I think God stopped to survey his work and call it good because his desire is that we do the same. God desires that we honor the work we’ve done, the work of creation, by acknowledging it and calling it good. He desires that we appreciate a job well-done before moving on to the next task at hand.

In appreciating and honoring the work of our hands, hearts, and minds, we are appreciating and honoring God himself, the one who created us, the one who gave us the hands, hearts, and minds with which to accomplish the work.

It’s easy to look at our to-do list and criticize ourselves for the items not checked off, the chores or projects still left undone. It’s easy to let what we haven’t accomplished overshadow what we have, to see only what remains to be done, rather than what we’ve finished. But to do that is to do ourselves, and our God, a disservice.

Let’s take the time to do as God did. Before we move on to the next project at hand, let’s stop for a moment to celebrate and see our good work for what it is: work well-done, work that honors God.

God Doesn’t Guarantee Success

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God Doesn't Promise Success

I was thrilled a couple of weeks ago when I saw that a major industry publication had reviewed my recently released biography about Martin Luther and his wife, Katharina. Getting a book reviewed in this publication is a big deal and something I’d aspired to for a long time. Neither of my first two books had been reviewed by this particular journal, so I was delighted to hear my third book had made the cut.

Then I read the review. By the time I finished the last sentence, my eyes brimmed with tears. The reviewer had criticized my book. It wasn’t merely a lukewarm review; it was flat-out negative.

As the day went on and I read the review over and over, my sorrow and disappointment turned to anger and bitterness. I’d worked nearly every day for more than 8 months researching and writing that book, I huffed to myself. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and into an unfamiliar, intimidating literary genre. I’d answered God’s call with obedience and faith, and for what? Embarrassment, disappointment, and regret.

I finally stopped crying later that afternoon, but only because I had to prepare for a talk I was scheduled to give at a local church that night. As I practiced aloud in my kitchen, I read these words from Paul to his friend, Archippus:

“Do your very best in the job you received from the Master. Do your very best.” In the marginal notes of my presentation I’d also jotted the New Living Version translation of the same verse: “Carry out the ministry the Lord gave you.”

You might miss this verse, which is tucked at the very end of Paul’s letter to the Colossians, and Archippus himself, who is only mentioned twice briefly in the entire New Testament, but Paul’s advice to his friend is critically important. As I stood at the kitchen counter I read both translations aloud again more slowly, this time noticing what wasn’t said in Paul’s brief command.

Paul didn’t tell his friend, “Do your very best, and you’ll be rewarded and praised.”

He didn’t say, “Do your very best, and you’ll be successful.”

He simply said, “Do your very best in the work you’ve been assigned,” and left it at that.

Paul’s emphasis was on doing the work, rather than on the outcomes or results.

This goes against what we’ve been taught in our “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” capitalist culture, which values achievement, success, and results at the expense of everything else. We are taught from our youngest days to produce, and we are typically rewarded for our efforts and accomplishments with promotions, praise, and accolades.

We are so immersed in this work-for-reward ethic, we forget that God doesn’t operate this way. We forget that God never promised us success. We forget that God never guaranteed we won’t fail.

God asks that we live obediently and faithfully. He asks that we discern and answer his call to the best of our ability, regardless of outcomes and results. And he asks that we trust his goodness and love for us, even when the result of our work isn’t what we’d hoped for or wished.

God never promised us success. What he did promise is that he will be with us always, in the joy of success, as well as in the disappointment of defeat.

This post originally ran in the Lincoln Journal Star on February 25, 2017.