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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

calling

Drop Your Nets

January 30, 2020 By Michelle 7 Comments

Last weekend I read the story in Matthew 4 of Jesus’ call to Peter, Andrew, James and John to follow him and become his disciples. “Come,” Jesus said to the fishermen. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”

Matthew tells us that all four men immediately dropped their nets, left their boats and followed Jesus, and I wondered, in that moment, what Jesus might be asking me to leave behind in order to follow him. My initial response was, “Nothing.” After all, I reasoned, last year was the year of leaving things behind. I quit book publishing, I quit writing my monthly column for the local newspaper, I quit speaking. I let so much go; surely there couldn’t be more to release, right?

In addition to the Year of Quitting Everything, 2019 was also a season of deep soul-searching. I read several spiritual and secular “self-help” books, re-entered counseling and filled journal after journal with questions and reflections. I was on a quest, a pilgrimage of sorts, to uncover my true, God-created self, and I was determined to leave no stone unturned. It was an exhilarating, gratifying, transformational season.

Research is my sweet spot, my comfortable place. Nothing makes me happier than gathering facts, evidence, knowledge and answers – especially, it turns out, when my research topic is my own self. I dove into my year of self-discovery with gusto. But here’s what I am realizing about my desire for knowledge, information, clarity and answers: it is, ironically, yet one more way I keep myself at arm’s length from my own self, from others and from God.

There is nothing inherently damaging about [most] self-help books (spiritual or secular). There’s nothing wrong with looking to the guru of the day for guidance and insights. Many offer a tremendous depth of wisdom and compassion, and I learned a lot from what I read this past year. The problem arises, however, when this quest for knowledge and insight becomes both another distraction – a way to avoid – and a means to control.

As long as I assume I can find the answer – the way – “out there,” I don’t have to sit with what’s right here in the deepest part of myself.

When I heard Jesus tell me to drop my nets, I realized he was asking me to drop what had become a safety net. “Come, follow me,” he said. He was asking me to leave my desire for clarity and direction behind in order to walk alongside him in trust, regardless of whether or not I know where we are going.

Jesus didn’t give the disciples any direction when he called them. He didn’t point out which way they were headed; he didn’t offer any clear insights or answers or even hint about where they were going. He said nothing other than, “Come, follow me,” along with the cryptic, “and I will make you fish for people.” Jesus’ presence was answer enough, and he asked his disciples to trust him with that single piece of evidence.

Nets can offer us safety, but safety is not always the better way. What looks like safety can end up entangling us. What looks like security can keep us from the true freedom into which God invites us.

It is good and right to be attentive to God’s movement in our lives, but it is also good and right to trust that he will make the way known without our grasping or pushing, without our seeking or striving – without, in fact, a lot of effort on our part at all. This is not complacency or apathy, but rather, a receiving, a yielding – a surrendering in confident trust that God is putting everything right with us and for us.

As I am learning, there’s always more to leave behind; there’s always something else to drop. Each time we release, we come closer alongside God.

Filed Under: calling, Gospels, surrender, True You, trust Tagged With: calling, Gospel of Matthew, True You

Why It’s Critical to Separate Who You Are from What You Do

November 27, 2018 By Michelle 8 Comments

There’s a tree in my neighborhood I pass nearly every day on my afternoon dog walk. It grows a few feet from the curb, and it’s beautiful – tall and stately, lush and vibrant with dark green leaves, even at this time of year, and a smattering of tiny orange berries dotting the greenery.

I’ve passed this tree hundreds of times in the last several years, but it wasn’t until recently that I saw something I’d never noticed before. The leaves and berries I’d long admired weren’t actually part of the tree itself. Rather, they were part of a large and intrusive vine which, over time, had snaked its way up the trunk and out along the tree’s limbs and branches.

What at first glance looked to be a beautiful and healthy tree was, in fact, an illusion. Not only was the vine obscuring the real tree that lay underneath, it was also, apparently, slowly draining the real tree of life. 

I stood in the street and stared up at the pine and the vine for a long time that day as Josie impatiently tugged at the leash. I noted the tree’s brown, brittle needles beneath the vine’s green leaves. I saw the way the vine’s heavy root had embedded itself into the tree’s bark — so much so that I could hardly discern one from the other.

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“Are you prepared to be other than your image of your false self?” Richard Rohr asks. “If not, you will live in bondage to your false self.”

Turns out, the pine and the vine hit awfully close to home. The hard, uncomfortable truth is that my identity is entwined with my vocation and profession as a published author.

There is a certain prestige that goes hand-in-hand with my job. And if I am brutally honest with myself, and with you, I can admit that I like this prestige. I like the approval, admiration, recognition and respect being an author automatically earns me.

And yet, I also know that what I do is not who I am. This identity of “author” is not my true identity. Being a “published author” is not my true self. It’s not the me God created when he wrote my name on the palms of his hands. Rather, as Rohr says, being a “published author” is part of my image of my false self.

“Basing identity on an illusion has profound consequences,” observes David Benning in his book The Gift of Being Yourself. “Sensing its fundamental unreality, the false self wraps itself in experience – experiences of power, pleasure and honor. Thomas Merton describes this as ‘winding experiences around myself…in order to make myself perceptible to myself and to the world, as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.”

There is nothing inherently wrong with being an author. It’s as good a vocation as any, and believe me when I say I am grateful for the opportunities writing and publishing books has afforded me. There have been many beautiful, life-giving parts of this journey — not the least of which is how writing has helped me grow in my faith — and I appreciate every single one.

But I also know that if I am honest with myself, being an author is also sometimes detrimental to my emotional and spiritual wholeness. I put a lot of stake – too much stake – in achievement, recognition and success. Over time, who I am has become wrapped up not only in what I do but also in how well I do it.

I have wrapped not only the experience, as Merton would say, but also the identity of “author” around myself, like a vine wrapped around the trunk of a tree. And at times, rather than sustaining me and giving me life, my vocation has held me in bondage, ensnaring me with its tendrils of “bigger,” “better” and “more.”

As David Benning acknowledges, “Anything that is grasped is afforded value beyond actual worth, value that is ultimately stolen from God.”

Have you ever seen the way a vine grasps, unfurling to latch onto and wrap itself around whatever it can? The strength of its clutch, even in something as small and tender as a zucchini vine, is astonishing.

I grasp at achievement, recognition and success, particularly achievement, recognition and success as a published author. And that is something I need to reckon with. Benning defines calling as “a way of being that is both best for us and best for the world.” The question I’m asking myself these days is whether my vocation as an author is really best for me.

I’m not making any radical decisions just yet. Right now it seems I am in a season of discernment. And the truth is, writing True You was the genesis of this journey toward uncovering my true self, a journey that in some ways has only unearthed more questions than answers. This question, in particular, begs to be asked: would I even be asking these questions about vocation and identity had I not written this book?

On the other hand, every time I walk by that pine tree in my neighborhood, the one wound round and round with the ever-expanding vine, I can’t help but notice something that seems important, which is this: while the vine is clearly flourishing, spreading its tendrils, reaching higher and higher, clutching and grasping, the tree beneath it is slowly dying, being overcome by the invasive vine a little more each day.

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If this post resonated with you, you might be interested in my forthcoming book, True You: Letting Go of Your False Self to Uncover the Person God Created, releasing January 1. In it, I dig more deeply into the themes of vocation and identity.

If you pre-order before January 1, I also have some lovely free gifts that nicely complement the book:

– a companion journal

– a guided audio meditation

– and a series of beautifully designed Scripture cards.

You can find out about where to pre-order True You and how to receive the free gifts over HERE. 

Photo by David Guenther on Unsplash

Filed Under: calling, career, publishing, True You, writing Tagged With: True You, vocation

What Were You Put on This Earth to Do? 4 Tips to Help You Find Your True Calling

September 30, 2016 By Michelle 1 Comment

4 Tips to Help You Find Your True Calling

This past summer I had the opportunity to spend some time with a small group of fellow authors at a spiritual writers’ retreat. On one of our free afternoons, a half dozen or so of the writers convened what they called a “Boss Lady” meeting to discuss and share strategies and ideas related to book publishing, marketing, and promotions.

Initially I was excited. Several of these writers are published authors with much bigger audiences and platforms than I have, and I was eager to gain insider insights into their success. I took copious notes in my journal as they chatted about utilizing social media, creating and launching online classes, growing email subscriber lists, and other marketing ideas. While I listened and jotted notes, I also made a list of the steps I needed to take in order to put several of these new strategies in place.

About halfway through the “Boss Lady” meeting, however, I realized that I was no longer feeling excited. In fact, I was filled with dread and anxiety. The writers who were brainstorming and sharing their successful business strategies were enthusiastic—clearly they enjoyed the entrepreneurial side of writing and publishing—but I was not, and it took me a while to figure out why.

…I’m writing about vocation over at For Her magazine today…join me for the rest of this article over there...

 

Filed Under: calling, work, writing Tagged With: vocation

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When You Can’t Hear God Calling

October 13, 2013 By Michelle 19 Comments

[On Mondays – well, technically, Sundays, I am stepping away from 31 Days of Authentic You to host the #HearItUseIt community.]

About 18 months ago I stood precariously on the edge of indecision as I grappled with whether to leave my part-time job of 10 years to pursue writing full-time. I hemmed and hawed, made lists of pros and cons and vacillated wildly, one day declaring to myself that I would stay, the next day insisting I would make the leap.

It was a difficult time, fraught with anxiety, fear and trepidation. The trouble was, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if I was hearing God calling me in a particular direction, or if I was simply wanting to hear him call me in a particular direction. I think that’s often the case when we are mired in indecision. We simply aren’t sure that we are hearing God correctly. Often it’s unclear whether we are following his will or our own.

The verses we read about young Samuel this week reminded me of that period of indecision in my own life. When God called in the middle of the night, Samuel mistook his voice for that of his mentor, the priest Eli. Each time God called out, “Samuel!” the boy jumped out of bed and answered Eli, “Hear I am; you called me,” to which Eli responded, “Go back to bed. I didn’t call your name.” The two went back and forth like this until finally, after the third time, Eli realized Samuel wasn’t hearing random voices but the voice of God calling down to him. He told Samuel to return to bed and instructed him to reply, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” when he heard the voice call down to him again.

One of the key points in this story is that Eli recognized the voice of God when Samuel did not. Eli realized Samuel was being called by God long before the young boy recognized the voice of God himself.

We all need an Eli in our life – someone who hears the voice of God when we can’t. Someone who can discern when God is calling us and point us in a direction that aligns with God’s will.

Back when I was wrestling with whether or not to leave my job, two Elis offered me counsel and direction: my friend Deidra and my husband Brad. Both helped me recognize that the yearning I felt to pursue full-time writing wasn’t simply a personal desire, but a call from God. Both Deidra and Brad helped me sort through the conflicting voices I thought I heard and zero in on the only voice that mattered. I’m not sure I would have been able to leap confidently without their wise and discerning advice.

It’s not easy to identify the voice of God. There’s a lot of noise out there, multiple distractions and myriad, conflicting forces – not the least of which is our own ego – all pushing and pulling us in different directions. We all need an Eli to help us sort through the detritus. We all need an Eli to tell us when God is calling, especially if we can’t hear his voice ourselves.

Questions for Reflection:
Has an Eli in your life ever helped you discern the voice of God? Can you think of one to two people who might serve in that capacity, should the need ever arise? Have you ever served as an Eli in someone else’s life?

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Welcome to the Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word each week. If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other #HearItUseIt participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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Filed Under: calling, listening for God, Old Testament, Use It on Monday Tagged With: Hear It on Sunday Use It on Monday, Old Testament, when you can't hear God

On Roller Coasters, Tidal Waves and Letting Go: A guest post by Abby Alleman

November 9, 2011 By Michelle 24 Comments

I’m honored to introduce Abby Alleman to you today. I’ve been reading Abby online for a while now, and was delighted to meet her recently at the Relevant conference, where it was obvious to me that her heart for God is just as wonderful and true in person as it is online! Abby and her husband and two young children will be leaving for Hungrary soon, where they will live out the Gospels as missionaries. Please spend some time over at her blog, Fan the Flame — I guarantee you will leave inspired and empowered to live in God’s love! And please, will you keep them in your prayers as they make this life-changing commitment?

As we were preparing to go overseas to Hungary for the summer of 2010, I remember sharing with some friends how I felt like I was about to get on a very tall, very fast, and very scary roller coaster.

It must have been a bit prophetic.

I felt that way anticipating taking our family of four, which included one not quite three year-old son and one not quite one year-old daughter and thankfully, one very hands-on father, across the ocean for five weeks.

I came home after those five weeks with the full weight of a long-term call, which, although it included much joy and excitement, had the undeniable mark of a great upheaval for our little family.

Fast forward fifteen months and I am still on that roller coaster. The ride has felt too much like the clink, clink, clink up to the summit and my nerves on overdrive with anticipation of the high speed fall to come.

Filled with logistics that have included the massive overhaul of all of our belongings, the leaving of a life and friendships we love, travelling most of the way across the country and back, five moves in four months {yes, you read that right} and the pending leaving of our families and dear friends at home, it has certainly felt like a life-sized quadruple loop thriller.

The anticipation is always what gets me. I give into fear. I try to picture this completely new life where we take our little family with one-way tickets to a place that we know a bit, but never as the long-term, raise-our-family home we now choose it to be. I feel my stomach tie into knots as every sure look at my weak little self shows how I don’t have what it takes to do this even nearly well.

And that is where I am both right and so very wrong. Just like a roller coaster, this can be fun, exhilarating even, when I let go. When I fix my gaze on the One who moves me along, inching up to heights and flying free down the other side.

But, I am liking another analogy better right now. It is that of a tidal wave. I stand on the shore and this wave is massive and intimidating and I know I am a lousy swimmer. I am sure I will be drowned.

And yet, in an instant I can change my perspective on what that wave really is. Instead of an overwhelming set of circumstances and changes, I can choose to see it as the fullness of my God. His grace, love, joy, peace, hope, goodness, as they rise up high and command the focus of my heart of hearts. And the crashing in of this wave holds not the possibility of death, only life.

In letting go and breathing deep that salt air, drinking in that salt water, I am preserved and sustained. And the fullness of God becomes my own. So when language foibles brand me witless, when I get lost on obscure European roads, when I can’t understand my children’s teachers, when all I want to do is come home but that must wait a long time, I can crumble into that wave and rise in a strength where my God is All the Glory.

That sounds like a pretty amazing way to live, do you agree?

When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you,
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then GOD promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God’s prayer.
~Psalm 42: 6-8
{The Message}

How is your life a roller coaster? A tidal wave? Are you embracing it as an opportunity to know Him as the One who overwhelms in the best of ways? Let’s walk this journey together.

Filed Under: calling, faith, God in the Yard, guest posts, hit the road, take a risk, tough decisons, trust

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Living out faith in the everyday is no joke. If you’re anything like me, some days you feel full of confidence and hope, eager to proclaim God’s goodness and love to the world. Other days…not so much.

Let me say straight up: I wrestle with my faith. Most days I feel a little bit like Jacob, wrangling his blessing out of God. And most days I’m okay with that. I believe God made me a questioner and a wrestler for a reason, and I believe one of those reasons is so that I can connect more authentically with others.

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