‘Someone’s Son: A Mother’s Fight for Her Gay, Drug-Addicted Son’ by Brenda Rhodes – Book Review

Drug addiction and self destructive behavior not only affect the person, but those choices also affect the people with whom they are close. It is not every day that we get a first-person view from the mother of a son who is struggling with these issues. We get this glimpse in Brenda Rhodes’ book, ‘Someone’s Son: A Mother’s Fight for her Gay, Drug Addicted Son.’

Here is the synopsis of this compelling book:

Sexual molestation…addiction…homosexuality…HIV/AIDS…illness and hospitalization…death.

Sadly, these markers on life’s road are familiar ones. Brenda Rhodes knows them well. In Someone’s Son, Brenda describes how she watched her sensitive, creative son, Ronal Paul, self-destruct as he traveled down this path. She seemed powerless to pull him back to safety.

Someone’s Son is a memoir of personal tragedy, but it’s more than that. It’s an account of God’s faithful love for a prodigal. Beginning with her own history, Rhodes unflinchingly writes of the years she strayed away from God. At the end of her resources, she heard Him urge her to let Him be God in her and her son’s lives. She did, and she found hope at the end of the road.

Someone’s Son will touch your heart, stir your faith, and awaken your concern for those struggling with addiction and other serious issues. It will leave you with the confidence that when you encounter someone like Ronal Paul, you’ll realize he or she is not just another drug addict or AIDS patient. She’s someone’s daughter – and he’s someone’s son.

Here is the biography of this author:

Brenda Rhodes is a retired co-owner of a successful family business. She encountered the mighty hand of God during the hardest struggle of her life –watching her beloved son self-destruct and die.

Having experienced deep sorrow, Rhodes sought a way to help others triumph over pain. Today she is a Stephen Minister in her local church’s Stephen Ministry, a one-to-one ministry to people in crisis. She lives in a Southern-style country home in Rockwall, Texas, that she often opens to visiting missionaries, and she enjoys her family and friends (as well as her wraparound porch and her cats).

The book opens on a heartbreaking note:

The message on my answering machine on Sunday, December 4, 2005, obliterated my already shaky world. “Mom, I’m sick,” the voice said. “Can you come and get me? I can’t even get a drink of water. Call me.”

What now? Ronal Paul, my thirty-four-year-old son, had hit rock bottom so many times I had lost count. His life had become one mess after another – a crystal-meth drug addiction, which led to all sorts of risky behaviors, and now AIDS – messes I had continued to clean up. But I had grown weary of his pleas. I called my close friend, Linda, who had also left a message. “I know it sounds awful,” I told her, “but I don’t want to call him back.” Having walked through this eight-year journey with me, she understood.

In that moment of desperate fatigue over my prodigal son’s journey, I had no idea that twenty-four days later Ronal Paul, my only son, would be dead in a Dallas hospital.

But God knew. With my son’s weak voice echoing in my ears, I asked God to clarify whether Ronal Paul was crying wolf or if he really needed me. I knew I had to call him back. (pp. 1-2)

That wrenched my heart.

Brenda had to deal with relative’s dysfunction from an early age:

Today, my mother would probably be diagnosed as bipolar, with a hefty dose of depression and paranoia. Her own mother, my Grandma Nichols, had been an unloving, mean-spirited woman, who often told her that she was never wanted. Mother loved her father, but he was seldom around. She grew up with money but lived in a very unhappy family.

When I think of my mother, I am reminded of that nursery rhyme:

          There was a little girl,

          Who had a little curl,

          Right in the middle of her forehead.

          When she was good,

          She was very good indeed,

          But when she was bad she was horrid.

Mother was a very pretty lady – petite (a trait I did not inherit), quick-witted, and funny. But I don’t think she liked herself, so she had trouble liking others in a healthy manner. She had flashes of pure brilliance sometimes, during which her shining face instigated fun and laughter, but her unpredictability set us all on edge. She could be the life of the party or ruin a party in a minute. She took great pride in her appearance but got mad when people told her she looked good. “Well, I certainly don’t feel good,” she would say. “I wish I felt half as people say I look.”

Mother had a need to tell everyone her problems, down to the very last detail. Health issues came first, and then came the things that involved me, Ronnie [Brenda’s brother], or Daddy. In her eyes, we could never do right. She had so much to be thankful for but could not seem to appreciate her life. Sad. (pp. 5-6)

That description reminded me of a family member; it gives me a more compassionate insight into that person.

Brenda went on to marry a bad boy with James Dean looks, Bobby. They had two children, Wendi and Ronal Paul. Bobby’s mother, Frances, and sister, Gaila, favored Wendi over Ronal Paul, and their favoritism was unmistakable. This affected how Brenda treated Ronal Paul:

Gaila permitted her kids and Wendi to do anything they wanted, but she ruthlessly corrected Ronal Paul. Her sons would hit him, and he would take it. If he hit back, she got furious.

“You can’t treat him that way,” I told her. “You can’t just correct him and let everyone else get away with everything. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied. “I’ve never done that!” Many years later, she apologized to him and to me for her mistreatment.

I tried to make it up to him with my love, but I smothered him, protecting him from their obvious and painful favoritism. I have often said that my biggest mistake with Ronal Paul became loving him too much. He was my joy, my confidante my rock. He was such a sweet, easygoing little guy, always making the best of every situation. And he loved everything and everyone. (pp. 24-25)

Bobby was incarcerated often during Ronal Paul’s childhood; his role models were all women:

Since circumstances kept him surrounded by women, his friends during his growing-up years were almost exclusively girls. This progressed to high school, where girls seemed to follow him around. Wendi used to say he’d make a great husband, considering his sensitivity and artistic bent, his tender heart.

But throughout all this, he didn’t take to boy things. When the other boys in the family enjoying hunting and sports, it just didn’t seem to be his thing. Protecting was. Once, after staying up too late watching infomercials as a teen, he took my credit card and made a payment to help orphans. He told me the next morning what he had done, with tears in his eyes, still sad for the fly-infested hungry orphans. That’s the kind of tenderhearted kid he was. (p. 25)

Brenda was a church goer and Christ follower until a pivotal event in her life:

Funny how you can recount the very moment you backed away from God. For me it was September 29, 1976. When Daddy left the earth, he took my heart with him – and my desire to follow my heavenly Father. How could God do this? Daddy loved life more than anyone I’d ever known. We all loved him and needed him. My kids needed their grandfather, especially Ronal Paul. He never stopped missing his Papaw. His death wasn’t fair.

For twenty-three years, starting from the day Linda told me Daddy died, I consciously rebelled. I made a choice to live my life as I chose. I didn’t need him anymore. I was just fine by myself. Daddy-less, but fine. (p. 34)

At the age of twenty one, Ronal Paul revealed to his mother and sister that he 

was gay. Brenda’s reaction was interesting:

         “You know? How?” he asked.

         Wendi interrupted. “I didn’t know. How did you know?”

“I’ve suspected for a long time. I’m not surprised, but I do have a question.” I looked at Ronal Paul. “Is this a choice?”

“No, Mom. I wouldn’t choose this. It’s who I am.”

I hugged him and told him I loved him, and nothing would ever change that.

I am sure we continued to talk, but I don’t remember what we said, except that we were all concerned how Ronnie and his son Eddie would respond.

I accepted his admission as the world does these days – as an alternate lifestyle. My son was a fine young man – honest, caring, hard working, dependable, loving – the same wonderful son I had always loved deeply. I hoped he would find one special man and be happy the rest of his life. (p. 46)

The next several years found Ronal Paul in a downward spiral, with an HIV positive status, risky sexual behavior, and addictions to crystal meth and ecstasy. His behavior was tearing apart his mother and the rest of the family. This heartbreak took Brenda back to her Savior:

…I gave up my twenty-something-year rebellion against God and prayed right in the car, “God, I plead the blood of Jesus over my son and over my family.”

The words sounded strange on my tongue, but I reasoned, I’ve tried everything else. It can’t hurt. I continued to cry and pray, begging God to help me. “Please, God, if you hear me, I plead the blood of Jesus over my family. Please help me – please.”

Close to home, I spied the large, white, stone buffalo at the entrance to one of our town’s newly built subdivisions. That’s the moment I heard the voice.

“Brenda,” the voice said, as clear as day.

Was that an audible voice? I looked around the car, even outside. My crying stopped. I am not sure if I kept breathing or not, as the atmosphere in the car stilled.

“Let. Me. Be. God,” the voice said.

In that second, I realized God was speaking directly to me! He reassured me that he did hear me, and if I gave control and followed his ways, he would shoulder the rest. (pp. 82-83)

Even since then, the word rejoice became Brenda’s special gift from the Lord. Philippians 4:4-7 became her life verse:

This is what it says to me: Rejoice. Praise God. Again rejoice. Praise God always! Let your love of Christ be seen by everyone; he is always near. Don’t worry about anything, Brenda Lynn, but in all things, pray and pray some more, with thanks to God – and you will see that the peace of God, which is beyond understanding, will protect your heart and your mind because of God’s Son, your Savior, Christ Jesus. (p. 88)

As the years went on, there was more self-destructive behavior on Ronal Paul’s part. In the end, there were restored family relationships, and Brenda was assured by Ronal Paul that they would be reunited in heaven some day.

Brenda ends the book this way:

        The next time you see or hear of someone like Ronal Paul, 

        please remember:

        He is not just an angry person struggling with life.

        She is not just another homeless man.

        He is not just another gay man.

        She is not just another drug addict.

        He is not just another AIDS patient.

        He or she is someone’s brother or sister, father or mother, 

        friend, cousin, niece, or nephew.

        She is someone’s daughter.

        He is someone’s son. (p. 208)    

Clearly, from the synopsis, we know that Ms. Rhodes will lose the battle to save her son in this life. So I read the book through a different set of eyes – not primarily to see what happens, but to see things the way she sees them. I had a great deal of empathy for Ronal Paul and sympathy for Brenda, and realize that Satan is the thief and the deceiver. I pray that this book will speak to all of the people that read it, and pray also that it has a large audience. I appreciate how Brenda laid her heart on the line, and thank her for sharing her life in this forum.

You can order this book here.

This book was published by WinePress Publishing and provided by the Blog Tour Spot for review purpose (thanks for a wonderful relationship, Tina!).

‘Permission to Speak Freely: Essays and Art on Fear, Confession, and Grace’ by Anne Jackson – Book Review

There are many things in the church today that are not as Jesus would like them to be (all you need to do is read the Bible). Many churches are not loving and open enough to allow people to open their hearts to show the dirt that is hidden in them. In ‘Permission to Speak Freely: Essays and Art on Fear, Confession, and Grace,’ Anne Jackson, who blogs as Flower Dust, hopes to bring more transparency – and love - into the church setting and in our lives.

Here is the synopsis of this book:

        What is one thing you feel you can’t say in church?

Anne Jackson posted this simple question on her blog in a moment of curiosity. The question struck a nerve. Hundreds of people from around the world responded; everyone had something to say.

Buoyed by this overwhelming reaction and her own life experience, Anne decided to dive deeper into what provoked such a profound response. Piecing together poems, stories, and personal insights, Anne explores the possibility of honest, real confession among saints and sinners.

Can someone really live a life of no secrets?

With raw honesty and humor, Anne shares her own struggles and writes about the tension between brokenness and holiness, cutting through Christians’ polite masks of “everything’s fine” and into the secrets shames we hide. She explores if faith and real life can co-exist, whether any secret is too shameful to confess, and most of all, if it’s really possible (and okay) to be a human in church today.

Here is Anne’s biography:

Anne Jackson is an author, speaker and activist. A contributing writer to various blogs and magazines, she is also the author of Mad Church Disease: Overcoming the Burnout Epidemic. Anne (www.twitter.com/flowerdust) is a cyclist who rides for the Ride: Well Tour, a cross-country cycling tour raising awareness and funds for Blood: Water Mission. An advocate for Compassion International, Anne and her husband, Chris, live near Nashville, Tennessee.

Here is the very charming and compelling author focusing on the subjects of sanctuary and confession, which are prominently featured in her book:

In the Introduction, Anne shares the origins of this book:

People have shared thoughts about politics and sex and mental illness and confusion and racism and Jesus and poverty and music and addictions and money [on her blog, FlowerDust.net]. They all felt, for some reason, they couldn’t freely discuss these topics (and many others) in the church.

A year and a half later, the website PermissionToSpeakFreely.com launched, asking for artistic submissions of confessions (photos, postcards, letters, anything else) to be used in this book and on the website.

What are people afraid of? What’s holding them back? How do faith and brokenness coexist? Why do bad things happen? Where is God in all this mess?

The purpose of this book is simple: to share the confessions I’ve received from the website or through the mail, as well as stories from my own life and experience, to show you that you’re not alone in your battle with fear and secrets. I know not everyone who thumbs through this book is a Christian. I am, and so I write this from an ever-exploring, continually learning, faith-based point of view…

To be frank, I am somewhat tentative to share some of these confessions and stories because I don’t want to paint a negative picture of the magnificent creation of the church. So with that said, please know the confessions that are shared aren’t directed at the church.

Instead, I believe the confessions in this book fly as misdirected arrows, coming from hearts so wounded they desperately need grace, freedom, beauty…

….and hope (pp. xv-xvi)

Anne writes a chapter on fear. She resolves to stand up to it:

After three decades of letting Fear intimidate me, I’ve decided enough is enough. It’s time to fight back. Fear may still exist and hide in the corners of my heart and my mind, but I refuse to allow him to have the control he once had.

Well, at least I’m attempting to try.

I realize fear isn’t only affecting me, but humanity as well. As I look around today, I see them hooking into many people I encounter. Their hearts are fighting for their dreams, yet Fear claws away at their spirits, telling them their dreams are impossible.

These people want to have a family, go back to school, quit their jobs and move to Africa, ask that girl out, volunteer at a shelter, stand up for justice, pose a question, right a wrong, or say hi to their neighbor, but Fear soaks into their bloodstream like a paralyzing virus and prevent them from taking a step in the beautiful, wonderful, difficult life in front of them.

Fear wants to stop their stories.

And with the pain and brokenness and hurt in this world, we simply can’t let it. The human race needs a hope and faith and light now more than ever.

The Scriptures say that through the love of Christ, we are to be that hope. That light burning brightly on a hill. Not hiding in the darkness of a shadow of a nemesis named Fear.

Yet we can’t fight it ourselves. (pp. 4-5)

Anne grew up as a PK – Pastor’s Kid. She grew up in the South, and there were a lot of people who felt that they were her judge and juror. She also had an interesting on two members of the Trinity:

Over the next few years, not much changed. Jesus was distinguished as a gentle white man who obviously was a fan of Pantene (how else could His hair be so soft and shiny in the pictures?) and His Father, God, was the Angry General who kept us all in line because Jesus was too polite to do so. Jesus could tell us great stories, but it was God who had the final word.

The people in the churches we would attend, for the most part, played the role of God’s mouthpiece, letting me know what He didn’t like me to do. Like run in the church or wear jeans or sit somewhere other than the second row with my mom.

I searched the Bible for guidance and confirmation about where I was supposed to sit as a preacher’s kid or what I was supposed to wear at church, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. (p. 12)

Things got trickier as she grew up:

As I got older, the disconnect between what I’d read in the Bible and what people in the church would actually say or do became more apparent and more confusing.

If there was anything being a Traditional Southern Baptist taught me, it was that I needed to know my Bible.

I think that if those really mean, really political people in the church really knew the power the words of the Bible held, they wouldn’t want us reading it and memorizing it so much in Sunday school.

Themes of grace, forgiveness, and love are woven in and out of the tissue-thin paper. But proof of the opposite is more than often what so many of us experienced if we’ve spent any amount of time in church or around church people. (pp. 19-20)

In Anne’s sophomore year of high school, her father was forced to resign his position as senior pastor. The unkind way in which it was handled by that church and its members had a devastating effect on her family:

We didn’t go to church anywhere. We tried a few times, but it was too painful – for my dad, because he saw someone else in the pulpit living out his dream, and for my mom, because she projected her heartbreak and lack of trust on the members of whatever church we visited. (p. 25)

Anne decided to try church again, but she was sexually abused by a youth pastor. She reacted in her usual way:

As you saw from my playground experience earlier, I run when hurt hunts me down. I put the blame for the pain I was experiencing from the “relationship” with this youth pastor on God and began to run from my faith again. God and I were through. He obviously didn’t care about me, so I didn’t care about Him anymore either.

To help numb the pain, I began experimenting with a lot of things that weren’t healthy for me.

A little alcohol.

Some pills.

And pornography.

I know, I know. Porn is a guy’s problem. Girls – especially teenage girls – didn’t look at porn. (pp. 31-32)

In her early twenties, after more ups and downs with God, she attended a church where He met her where she was:

I can’t recall a specific moment when I finally chose to surrender my heart to God again. That makes me even wonder if there was a specific moment. Maybe it was just a lot of little moments stacked up on top of each other. God didn’t prove Himself trustworthy to me in one big burning bush. He didn’t guarantee my happiness or take all my fear in one fell swoop.

But He did find me again.

Or perhaps, maybe I just allowed myself to be found. (p. 43)

She accepted a paid position at that church, despite godly counsel telling her it would not work out:

The church continued to grow rapidly. We went from four services to ten every weekend. Because of my background in corporate communications, I was asked to take a new position – director of communication and media. The new title (and salary and office) tempted me. I was twenty-four years old and would be the youngest person, and one of the only women, on our leadership team. Ignoring advice from our youth pastor that I wouldn’t fit in with the more corporate structure of “Big Church,” I followed my own heart’s desire and accepted the new role.

As fate would have it, my direct supervisor and I didn’t see eye to eye on, well, just about anything. We both had a history in the corporate world, but we were a generation or two apart. Where he preferred independence and micromanagement, I favored collaboration and networking. As a way to branch out and learn from other church leaders, I started blogging regularly. In my musings, I would ask questions about church and leadership. I was just trying to figure it out too.

Evidently, that wasn’t a good idea.

I was pulled aside one afternoon and told I couldn’t ask questions about theology or church leadership philosophy on my blog, regardless of how generic or unassuming my thoughts were. (pp. 45-46)

She complied – but knew she had to move on:

I told him I wouldn’t blog anymore about sex, and then I started looking for another job – not in a church. I should have gone with my first instinct of staying away from church and Christians, because I never could wrap my mind around the tension of being who God created me to be in a place that required that I keep the most unique parts of who I was hidden. (p. 48)

Anne noted that the church was a place of sanctuary for hundreds of years. She asserts that we need to get back to that place:

At the risk of sounding overly idealistic, I’d like to say that for those of us who believe the church should be one of the safest places and most grace-giving places a person can experience here on earth, it’s time to reclaim what our faith stands for.

It’s time for us to politely but passionately disagree with those who make church a “safe” place by removing all messiness.

It’s time for us to put all we have out in the open – not for the sake of faux humility or self-deprecating exploitation or attention, but for recognizing the things the Cross stands for and left for us: ultimate love and undiscriminating grace. (p. 85)

Anne has been profoundly moved by Jesus’ parable about the Prodigal Son as found in Luke 15. She had some realizations:

I choked back tears because I realized a few things. One, God wasn’t disappointed in me for not making something happen. He wasn’t mad because I hadn’t figured it out. Honestly, that was one of my biggest fears – that I had somehow disappointed God by not unraveling the mystery of how to transfer the knowledge of His truth from my mind into my heart.

And two, I was free from that responsibility. Sure, I had to prepare myself by learning the character of God and understanding the depth of His grace. But then I simply need to trust that He will guide me into what my next step is by illuminating something inside me as I continue the process of healing.

You can’t will transformation. You and I fail miserably when we try to work our way out of addiction, shame, anger, or envy instead of letting God work out His way in us.

You’ve been walking a long way on a journey back home. You’re scared to see your Father’s face because you know how much pain your sin has caused Him. You’re willing to do whatever it takes to be back home, even though you feel unworthy.

Now you can stop.

Let Him run to you. Let Him meet you where you are. You don’t have to beg your way back. He never stopped loving you, and after you confess, let Him celebrate your rescue and the beginning of the transformation. (p. 95-96)

In addition to God helping us, we need to accept the help of others. Anne became a friend of Jamie Tworkowski, founder of a movement called To Write Love on Her Arms. TWLOHA is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire, and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery. He shared this with Anne when they met up in New York City:

“Okay,” he said, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket and leaning forward on the table. “I’m sort of a freak about Bono. So there’s this song U2 does called ‘One,’ and there’s a line in it that says, ‘We get to carry each other.’ I read an interview recently where Bono talked about how it makes him mad when people sing that line wrong. They sing, ‘We have to carry each other’ instead of ‘We get to carry each other.’ So basically, he said if you sing it like we have to carry each other, we’re missing the privilege of it. We don’t have to – we get to. It’s an obligation, and stretch, and it take so much effort. But in the end, it’s a privilege that we get to carry each other. That’s just so right on. It’s so true.” (p. 177)

I know that song very well, and I never interpreted carrying each other as being a privilege in the way Bono wrote it to mean.

In closing, Anne says we have to choose to move away from fear:

Each time we decide to take a step away from fear, we begin to move forward into a life completely energized and rich in the freedom God has for us. And as we take more steps into freedom, our actions have the power to set others on that same course of freedom as well.

Only you can give yourself permission.

Not me. Not this book.

Not the church, whether you go to one or not.

Only you can give yourself the permission to speak freely.

Don’t let fear stop you.

Someone is waiting on you to tell your story. To share how you’re being rescued. To share how scary it is but how beautiful it is. Someone is waiting for the little ounce of courage that your voice can give them, so they can begin to find their piece of freedom. (p. 187-188)

This book is a combination memoir and submissions from Anne’s readers. It is raw and real. I grew up in a home in which there were a lot of secrets; unbeknownst to me until I was in it, I also married into a family with that mindset. So it is easy for me to want to be ashamed of and find the messy issues with others. I am amazed at her openness and think it helps other people to expose your hearts so that others are aware that they are not the only ones struggling. So I appreciate Anne exposing herself and her issues with the intention of helping others; so much courage! She has certainly helped me, and I in turn intend to use it to help others.

Although I own ‘Mad Church Disease: Overcoming the Burnout Epidemic,’ Anne’s first book, I have not read it as yet. I have had it in my heart to be employed in a Christian ministry for a long time – but I think the Lord wants to do some more work in me before. I think her book will help me to get an insider’s perspective on working in a church, just as this book shows outsiders what it’s like to deal with depression, addiction, etc…

You can order this book here.

This book was published by Thomas Nelson Publishers and provided by Book Sneeze, its blogger review program, for review purposes.

‘Sin Boldly: A Field Guide for Grace’ by Cathleen Falsani – Book Review

God has blessed some people with tremendous gifts. One person who has the gift of creating pictures through words is Cathleen Falsani. I just had the pleasure of reading her title from 2008, ‘Sin Boldly: A Field Guide for Grace.’ And God has been showing me a lot about His grace in the last few years, so reading this book about grace is perfect!

Here is the synopsis of this incredible book:

          Why write a book about grace?

Because it’s the oxygen of religious life, or so says a musician friend of mine, who tells me, “Without it, religion will surely suffocate you.”

Because you can’t do grace justice with a textbook, theological definition, but you can get closer by describing it with music and film, pictures and stories.

Sin Boldly: A Field Guide for Grace is for people who say they’ve never experienced grace, that it doesn’t exist, or at least they don’t believe it does. It’s also for those peculiar folks who relish trying figure out whether the grace they’re experiencing is common or divine. (The answer is yes). Because everyone experiences grace, even if they don’t realize it.

This collection of stories is about the author’s experiences with grace – in ridiculous moments and in those that seem trivial but are anything but; in wacky adventures and quiet walks; with family and with strangers; in bars, restaurants, the occasional house of worship, and in her own home; and through conversations with people – some famous and some not – who have introduced her to grace in new ways that in turn have shaped her faith and the way she tries to live it.

Since 2001, Falsani has written a column on spirituality and popular culture for the Chicago Sun-Times. Of her work, she says she likes to try to “find God in the places some people say God isn’t supposed to be,” and that she defines both spirituality and popular culture quite broadly. Sin Boldly shows the big in the small, the universal in the particular, and the sacred in the supposedly profane by following in the confessional footsteps of Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies and Plan B; Frederick Buechner’s Whistling in the Dark and Wishful Thinking, and David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim.

Falsani says, “You can call it what you like, categorize it, vivisect it, qualify, quantify, or dismiss it, and none of it will make grace anything other than precisely what grace is: audacious, unwarranted, and unlimited. In the end, it’s all about grace.”

And here is Cathleen explaining what grace means to her:

Here is the Cathleen’s biography:

Cathleen Falsani, author of The God Factor and The Dude Abides, is an award-winning religious columnist previously with for the Chicago Sun-Times; she is currently a columnist for Religion News Service and a contributing editor and columnist for Sojourners Magazine; you can also read her posts at the Huffington Post. She is a graduate of Wheaton College and holds master’s degrees in journalism and in theology. She lives in the Laguna, California with her husband and fellow journalist, Maurice Possley and their son, Vasco. She has an upcoming release entitled The Thread: Rediscovering Faith and Friendship on Facebook.

I look forward to reading the new title, as my first encounter with Ms. Falsani was on Facebook. She also has a book that has been released since ‘Sin Boldly’ called ‘The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers,’ which takes a look at the Coen Brothers’ movies from a spiritual perspective; I will be reviewing that one soon.

In the Introduction, Ms. Falsani explains to whom this book is directed:

This is a book primarily for people who say they’ve never experienced grace, that it doesn’t exist, or at least that they don’t believe it does. It’s also for those peculiar folks who relish trying to figure out whether the grace they’re experiencing is common or divine (The answer is, Yes). (p. 11)

Cathleen explains that people ask her a particular question with regularity, and she has an answer for them:

People regularly ask me why I believe in God. The simple answer – and it’s MY answer, i.e., it may not be YOUR answer and that’s OK – is grace.

As I understand it:

Justice is getting what you deserve.

Mercy is not getting what you deserve.

And grace is getting what you absolutely don’t deserve.

Benign goodwill. Unprovoked compassion. The unearned gift.

Scads of writers and theologians have tried to describe grace, but I think musicians usually get closer to capturing it, sometimes with words, sometimes not. The first is from Bono of U2, in the song titled “Grace,” lest anyone be confused about what he was getting at.

“Grace, she takes the blame, she covers the shame, removes the stain,” he sings, in a simple tune that sounds almost like a nursery rhyme. “She travel outside of karma…Grace makes beauty out of ugly things.”

Yes, he nails it. That’s grace. (pp. 14-15)

Here’s a video of that incredible song by one of the most amazing (and worshipful) bands of all time:

One of the places that Cathleen visited in order to encounter grace was Elvis Presley’s Graceland with her friend from college and beyond, Bubba. She brought up an interesting fact in the ‘Bouncing into Graceland’ chapter:

Did you know that the only Grammy awards Elvis won were for gospel recordings? It was one of the many surprising bits of trivia I took away from our pilgrimage to Graceland, the famously kitschy Memphis home where Elvis lived – and on August 16, 1977, died. The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll won his first Grammy in 1967 for Best Sacred Performance for the recording of the gospel album How Great Thou Art. His second Grammy, for Best Inspirational Performance, came in 1972 for his gospel album He Touched Me, and a third in 1974 for the recording of the song “How Great Thou Art.” Offstage, Elvis was reared in an Assemblies of God church in Tupelo, Mississippi, singing gospel tunes with his entourage as a way to relax, and, perhaps, self-soothe. (p. 22).

Cathleen points out this important - and comforting – truth in her own inimitable style:

Yet the faith that Elvis had as a child, and that Bubba and I share, promises that it doesn’t matter whether he could pull it together in the end. God fills that gap. While it’s true that you may lose your religion during the course of a lifetime, you never lose your salvation.  Once you let Jesus in your kitchen, he just keeps making peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and he never leaves. (pp. 23-24)

Here’s another comforting thought about Jesus:

When we start squealing for help – every time, without fail – he comes to the rescue, frees us from the prison of our own making, and lovingly puts us back in the flock with the rest of the goats. (p. 24)

Cathleen shares that, as a youth, she strove for perfection. She is learning as she is on her journey of faith that there is no such thing on this planet:

But as my tenure in (spiritual and physical) adulthood wears on, I’ve discovered – thank God – that all of that is thoroughly wrongheaded and simply impossible.

There is no right way. There is no best. There is no perfect. It’s not a competition. Not when it comes to faith. Not when we’re talking about a relationship with the divine. In the end, it’s about grace; it’s about something you don’t do. It just is. (p. 31)

I have learned that on my journey as well – and it is so freeing to not try to be perfect anymore!

Here’s some good advice from Cathleen as we live this life:

It’s not a race, so stop to smell the flowers along the way, bask in the warmth of the sun, enjoy the silence, allow the peace to embrace you. And rest a while at the center before making your way back into the world. (p. 33)

One of Cathleen’s favorite spots in the world is New Orleans. She is amazed at the resilience of the people of that city. Jean, a friend of her friend Bubba, started a church in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi called Lagniappe; it’s an old Creole word that means “something extra”:

In other words, a lagniappe is getting what you don’t deserve?

“Absolutely,” Jean said. “In that sense, this area was primed for grace. It understood the gospel it didn’t know. It’s like Babette’s feast. Too often the church is the gruel sippers who have their faces pressed against the window of the world watching the world celebrate life and they don’t get it. When in reality, the father welcomed the prodigal son home in the gospel of Luke, chapter 15, and the world pressed its face against the window to see the celebration of life.” (p. 56)

Cathleen makes this statement about grace with relation to the Gulf region:

Sometimes grace is having the strength to persevere through the storm.
Sometimes it’s having the guts to rebuild, to take a chance, to follow your nose and your heart rather than your head.

Sometimes grace is finding out that your preconceived notions are dead wrong.

Sometimes it’s being surprised by joy.

Sometimes grace is something you can feel even if you can’t see it.

And sometimes it’s a bowl of watermelon gazpacho when you were expecting Taco Bell. (p. 57)

Watermelon gazpacho is a soup (Cathleen shares the recipe on pp. 58-59!) I have been to NOLA twice myself on Hurricane Katrina outreach trips in 2005 and 2006; I look forward to visiting again (perhaps the Mardi Gras Marathon!). I continue to pray for them as they endure the BP oil disaster.

Cathleen, in the ‘Man Hands’ chapter, was surprised at a photo of the hands of Princess Grace of Monaco; they were very manly! Inspired by that photo, I love Cathleen’s vision of what Jesus looked like as he journeyed here on earth:

Jesus must have had man hands. He was a carpenter, the Bible tells us. I know a few carpenters, and they have great hands, all muscled and worn, with nicks and calloused pads from working wood together with hardware and sheer willpower. In my mind, Jesus isn’t a slight man with fair hair and eyes who looks as if a strong breeze could knock him down, as he is sometimes depicted in art and film. I see him as sturdy, with a thick frame, powerful legs, and muscular arms. He has a shock of curly black hair and an untrimmed beard, his face tanned and lined from working in the sun. And his hands – hands that pounded nails, sawed lumber, drew in the dirt, and held the children he beckoned to him. Hands that washed his disciples’ feet, broke bread for them, and poured their wine. Hands that hauled a heavy cross through the streets of Jerusalem and were later nailed to it. Those were some man hands.

I’ve heard it said that grace is God reaching God’s hands into the world. And the Bible tells us that we are part of the Body of Christ, that if we let the Spirit move through us, we can become the hands of Christ on earth. Hands that heal, bless, unite, and love. I’d like to think God’s hands are a bit like Grace’s man hands – gentle but big, busy, and tough. God’s hands are those of a creator – an artist who molded and shaped the universe out of a void, who hewed matter from nothingness. (p. 71) 

I was amazed – and slightly amused – by the means God used to save Cathleen:

Mom went into the kitchen for a cup of tea and left me alone with the television, which she had tuned to a church service. I don’t remember exactly what the preacher said in his impassioned, sweaty sermon, but I do recall three things crystal clearly: The preacher was Jimmy Swaggart; he gave an altar call, inviting the folks in the congregation in front of him and at home in TV land to pray a simple prayer asking Jesus to come into their hearts; and that I prayed that prayer then and there, alone in the den in front of the idiot box.

Seriously. That is precisely how I got “saved.” Alone. Watching Jimmy Swaggart on late-night TV. I also spent a painful vacation with my family one summer at Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker’s Heritage USA Christian theme park in South Carolina. But that’s a whole other book…. (p. 83)

Sound like another entertaining read!

Cathleen goes on to explain the mindset change she had as time went on:

All through college and into my early twenties, I was a good girl, abiding by the rules (mostly), trying desperately to follow the recipe, and worrying the whole time about how I was doing as a Christian – whether I was making the right decisions, thinking the right thoughts, dancing the right steps. Then round about the age of twenty-five, I was tired of being tired of being scared about doing something that, if I deconstruct it honestly, might somehow cost me my salvation and make God love me less. When I understood, in God’s grace, that there was nothing – not a thing – I could do to make God love me any less or any more, when I understood that there was nothing wrong or right about who I am in God’s eyes, that I’m just loved, I started to live. Boldly. Or at least as boldly as I could muster much of the time. (p. 85)

Cathleen has learned along the way that we need to not be distracted by flawed people, but to keep our eyes on perfection – Jesus:

I know – oh, Lord, how I know – that the fastest way to get into trouble spiritually is to look to other Christians as an example of how to live a life of faith rather than looking to Jesus himself. The Bible tells us that Jesus was perfect and always made the right decisions. His followers? Not so much. Still, as the nineteenth century American evangelist Dwight Moody once said, “Of one hundred men, one will read the Bible; the ninety-nine will read the Christian.” What many of the proverbial ninety-nine see when they read most Christians today doesn’t look much like the Jesus of the Bible, who was all about revolutionary inclusiveness, radical love, and audacious grace.

We’re so worried about the legal details of crossing doctrinal t’s and dotting sociopolitical i’s that we miss the big picture. The love picture. The one thing Jesus was really clear about: LOVE. If we could just get that one thing down, the details would take care of themselves. (p. 104)

Preach it, sister!

Cathleen, who was in the Roman Catholic Church as a child, was given an assignment as a young reporter to write about a giant statue of the Virgin Mary at a convent in Blue Island, Illinois. There she made the acquaintance of an eight-three year old nun named Annunziata. They developed a love and friendship that lasted for many years. Annunziata was the personification of love:

My nun, which is how I think of her, was the most profound witness for God’s love I’ve ever encountered in this world. She was a magnet for lost souls, a petite fortress of strength and unconditional love. What this sprightly, silly, lovely woman did from the obscurity of a faded convent in Rust Belt Chicago was to fulfill in a passionate, tireless way the supreme commandment of Jesus’ gospel every day of her life. According to the thirteenth chapter of the gospel of John in the New Testament, just after Jesus washed the feet of his twelve disciples (including the one he knew would betray him and deliver him into the hands of his executioners), he gave them an order: “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

When Annunziata said she loved me or any of her thousands of other friends and beloveds, she was really saying, at least in my mind, “God loves you.” (p. 141)

I will close out this long review (can you tell I love this book?!) by sharing with you Cathleen’s description of an orphan who captured her (and her husband’s) heart when they met him in Malawi:

Vasco is usually the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing on my mind when I fall asleep at night. I cannot get out of my mind the image of him standing by the side of the road, smiling in his too-big T-shirt with a dove and the word chisomo on it.

His dark, sad doe eyes.

His delicate, almost regal features.

His whispery, shy voice.

That sweet, quiet spirit.

I rest, when I am able, in the knowledge that God is holding my darling African boy in the palm of God’s hand, that it was no accident this child walked into my life, sat on my lap, and stole my heart.

By the way, in Chichewa, chisomo means “grace.”

I went to Africa looking for chisomo. And boy, did I find it. (p. 204)

I am happy to report that Cathleen and her husband, Maurice, have since adopted Vasco!

I adored this book! From what I have seen (from afar!) of Cathleen, she seems like one of the coolest chicks on the planet! It is always a blessing to me to see a cool person be so in love with Jesus! That combination will attract a lot of people to pursue Jesus, and that’s a good way to grow His kingdom. I am so grateful that Cathleen uses her gifts for Him. I strongly encourage everyone to read ‘Sin Boldly’!

You can order this book here.

This book was provided by Zondervan Publishers for review purposes.