Where, Oh Death, Is Now Your Sting?

Posted on October 31, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

I am of an age where I go to a lot of funerals. Robert Redford and Diane Keaton, icons from my youth, recently departed. A close friend lost her husband, another her mother-in-law, another her beloved dad. That same week my cat, Conan, just a year old, came down with an unexplained fever, lethargy, and lack of appetite, as if he too might soon die.

In a funk, I lay on my couch mourning my friends’ losses, cradling my feline friend, and binge watching escapist movies and horrible news.

But life goes on, The following day, I drove to babysit my local grands and passed through neighborhoods decorated with enormous spiders, skeletons, and witches as if death, decay, and wickedness are something to celebrate. Don’t get me wrong, as a kid, I trick or treated in hot pursuit of candy, but as I watched brilliant leaves drifting from the trees, another memory came to mind.

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash

It was October in the 80’s. I was a stay-at-home mom with three little ones. The air hung gray and damp. Too chill to play outside, it was a perfect day for pretending, so I plunked the baby on the living room rug and played a cassette of The 1812 Overture, rousing classical music you may recognize with cannon fire at the end. In my childhood, it was the soundtrack for a Puffed Wheat commercial. As an adult, I learned it was not only the jingle for a cereal ad, but Tchaikovsky’s portrait of Russia’s miraculous defeat of Napoleon at the battle of Borodino.

Unaware of Tchaikovsky’s narrative, my two older kids responded instantly to the story within the music. At the call of distant trumpets, up the stairs they raced to the dress-up box. My three-year-old son came back in a Hawaiian-print shirt down to his ankles, and an antique safari hat. Brandishing a slightly bent cardboard sword covered in aluminum foil, he galloped around the dining room table as a motif of “La Marseillaise,” the French national anthem, whispered above humming cellos.

My five-year-old daughter descended the staircase in the sawed-off tulle skirt from an aunt’s pale-blue prom gown. A gauzy curtain wrapped around her head acted as crown, veil, and train all in one.

An oboe whined as if evil would surely overtake our home as well as Mother Russia. But my Hawaiian uniformed soldier flashed his sword as cymbals clashed, and my diminutive princess/bride swirled her skirts and veil as the battle enlisted every instrument in the orchestra.

With ever descending scales, the music slowed. In the thrall of solemn violins, my little girl paraded the living room waving a chrome baton above her head to a melody evoking the divine snowfall that froze Napoleon’s artillery in mud causing his retreat. My son joined his sister in a kind of grand march, their small hearts innately attuned to the sovereign omnipotence marking each note.

As distant trumpets called, the tempo increased, and both children joined the thunderous advance of the Russian cavalry. Their baby sister sat on the carpet wide eyed with awe as they raced around her, horses rearing, carillons chiming, cannon unleashing a rhythmic barrage above the symphony. Victory was in the room. Even the baby felt it through the mysterious language called music that speaks to us body and soul.

While composing this post, I listened to the 1812 Overture again and again, hearing what my children imagined years ago, the battle of good and evil. I confess, the finale brought tears to my eyes because in it I also heard the merciful sovereignty of an invisible, invincible God who grants seemingly impossible triumph to the weak and powerless who trust him.

Wars still rage. Heroes and villains change sides. People we know and love die, but in this hallowed season that acknowledges death and evil, I remember that no matter what inner or outer battles we wage, I have faith that almighty God is in control.

That said, faith should not be without action as long as evil haunts the earth. So as my children pretended years ago, I will fight the good fight, trusting the Lord for a seemingly impossible triumph, knowing his ultimate mercy awaits all who live and die trusting his grace in a broken world.

In the meantime, I invite you to listen to the 1812 Overture, the Harmony Haven version of the finale is GREAT on Spotify if you have it. Hoping you too can hear the unexpected victory of our humble savior through his death and resurrection.

Death has lost the battle!
55 Where is its victory?
    Where is its sting?”

1 Corinthians 15:55

PS. My cat, Conan, has fully recovered.

Cover Photo by Mathew MacQuarrie on Unsplash

Copyright Ann C. Averill 2025

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The Write Words at the Right Time

Posted on October 28, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

I recently read this quote on the FB page of author Robin Gunn. “On days — or weeks — when life seems to enter a floundering pause, I take comfort from this thought Lilias Trotter wrote in 1903 when she was a missionary in Algiers.”

“There were the fishing boats in the sunrise this morning. They were tacking before the wind, and at each fresh tack came a pause when the sail took an expression of helpless uncertainty and standstill under which the boat nearly reeled – then it would catch the breezes from the other side and bound off under it in a new direction. I think we are tacking just now!”

My father was a sailor, so I know the flapping pause between tacks. Feeling it now as a writer who just published a memoir, Unmoored: How an Adoptee Found Her True Identity, and waiting to catch the next book in the breeze.

While I wait, I’ve had time to clean up my desk. In doing so, I found a pile of quotes I’d scribbled on scraps of paper from books and blogs over the years to remind myself:

  • Why I write
  • How to write
  • What I hope to offer my readers

Why I write

“Writing—for me—is its own kind of worship. The definition of worship is the ‘feeling of expression or reverence for a deity.’ Creating is the greatest expression of reverence I can think of because I recognize that the desire to make something is a gift from God. The freedom to carve out the time and have a safe place to create that art is a blessing of the highest level in a world where so many people are unable to have either.” Rachael Hollis.

“I can write down words and send them out into the world and hope they find a home. Or I can hide my light under a bushel because I’m too afraid someone won’t like the glare.” Rachael Hollis

“I write for myself—to figure something out and others will follow my passion to find the answer.” Philip Yancey

“I write so souls can share common ground.” Grace P. Cho

“Use your real story to share the real hope of Jesus. Walk with a limp and share Jesus as the healer.” Hosanna Wong

“Your life is not a tragedy; it’s a testimony that the Lord is your Rock and Redeemer.” Lysa Terkeurst

“Do not despise the era in which the Lord has chosen to make you an influencer.” Katie Emanuel

“Go turn the light on in the field God gave you.” Jennifer Dukes Lee

“This calling is not all on you. This calling is the awe of what God can do.” Suzie Eller

Don’t confuse your purpose with calling. Your purpose is to glorify God. Your calling is to live out that purpose.” Pricelis Perreaux-Dominguez

“Your book is not self-promotion, but a gift to your readers.” Emily Freeman

“You publish to influence others for good. You’re not done until they read it.” Gary Moreland

How to write

“Unflinching, uncomfortable, and unapologetic honesty is what makes a memoir stand out.” Shannon Leone Fowler

“Make sure you’re sharing from your scars not your open wounds.” Nadia Bolz-Weber

“In memoir, we have to fall hard for the character and feel swept up in the way the story is told.” Gail Hockman

“Technique holds a reader from sentence to sentence, but content will stay in his mind.” Joyce Carol Oates.https://www.facebook.com/joycecaroloatesofficial/

“Events won’t carry the story. It’s reflection and introspection that caries the themes under the surface. I was different on the trail little by little. It’s how you spin the back story.” Cheryl Strayed  

“This is a great age of non-fiction. It’s not about how bad a butt whipping you had, but a change of character. Conflict within the self. Readers are spiritually starving to hear real stories in a convincing, impressive, moving way—a compelling narrative.” Mary Karr

What I want to offer my readers 

“God let’s our damage surface, so he can redeem it, not punish it.” Serena Woods 

 “We all know when we’re in the presence of truth and beauty.” Alison Wearing

“Truth is more than facts. Truth is transcendent. It has a healing quality. Truth is a resonant cord.” Allison Wearing.

I share these words because they were the words that filled my sails as I zig zagged toward publication.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Robin Gunn’s quote is just another example of the right word shared at the right time. Apt phrases billowing with hope, purpose, and direction both propel and steady us as we follow the course God sets before us.

The right word
    at the right time
is like precious gold
    set in silver.

Proverbs 25:11 (CEV)

No matter where and when I catch the next book in the breeze, I want my words to steer readers towards the grace of God that enables us to beat into any head wind and finish the race.

Cover photo by Alfonso Escu on Unsplash

Copyright Ann C. Averill 2025

Posted in Flash memoir, Spiritual Growth, Writing Process | Leave a comment

Discovering Recovery Church

Posted on August 29, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

A few nights ago, I went to a local Recovery Church with a friend who, like me, had devastating alcoholism in her family.  I wasn’t sure what I’d find or exactly what I was looking for when I walked into a back room of a larger church. There were two aisles of folding chairs. An LCD projector stood ready to put the words from a laptop onto a screen. I got there a tad early and noticed a coffee pot on a table in the back lined with fresh fruit and individually cut pieces of cake. I didn’t partake of the goodies, however, feeling a tad like an intruder entering a secret sanctuary. After all, this was for alcoholics, and although I’d certainly abused the substance as a teen and young adult, I hadn’t been caught in its net.

On the far side of the room were clumps of men sitting and chatting together. A single row of women sat solemnly one row from the front on the opposite side. I positioned myself behind the women and next to a man I knew from my own church.

He and I exchanged a, “Hi, how are you?”

We both answered, “Fine.” Then why in the world was I there?

I kept quiet until the friend who had invited me walked in and sat beside me. A friend from the worship band at my church walked in and greeted us both, and I chatted briefly with she and her husband sitting behind me.

As the room filled, my worship-band friend proceeded to the front, the LCD projector lit up, everyone stood, and the guitarist accompanying her strummed the first few chords to a song whose lyrics displayed on the screen. Every voice in the room chimed in declaring the goodness of God even though every life in the room had been ferociously attacked by alcohol. The women in front of me joined hands and swayed to the music. By the second tune, my own hands were raised in praise of God’s faithfulness to me. We sang another as if the gratefulness of the hearts gathered in that room could take down the beast that had tried to take down all of us.

The pastor of the Recovery Church stepped to a lectern and after a short sermon of encouragement asked two men in the group to come forward. They in turn invited anyone who had surrendered something to the Lord during the week, to come up and receive a surrender cross. Several came forward to have the symbol of the ultimate surrender and resurrection, a simple wooden cross on a leather thong, hung around their neck. There were hugs, and more hugs, hugs galore for them and others throughout the evening who received other symbols and accolades for their sobriety measured in decades, years, even days.

Then the testimonies began to roll. The first was by one of the women in front of me who sprang from her seat, and in choking sobs, recounted with awe how God through this Recovery Church had rescued her from the relentless undertow of alcohol. One by one they rose, like waves crashing on a beach, to tell their tale of entrapment and rescue by a God too good to let them perish in shame.

When it was closing time, we ended with another song of gratitude to God, and tears welled in my own eyes. Tears of emotions I couldn’t immediately identify, but I no longer felt like an intruder. Jesus had rescued me too, not only from alcohol, but a multitude of shames. And I was thankful to have witnessed the wide wake of his compassion. I hugged the woman in front of me. I hugged my friend beside me. I hugged the husband of the friend who led us in song. I hugged as if my life depended on it, as if I wanted to be glued together with these souls equally saved and in the desperate process of sanctification.

Afterwards, we broke into two groups for further discussion: one for addicts, the other for family and friends of addicts. But by then we were one, all of us, swamped by the generosity of Jesus who reaches out and holds onto those who acknowledge they are drowning and want to live above the waves without fear. 

Photo by Yael Gonzalez on Unsplash

BTW, the night I was there, Recovery Church celebrated the existence of 100 churches of its kind. They are congregations grateful that Jesus came specifically to seek and to save the lost. (Luke 19:10) And isn’t that all of us?

My prayer, that every church may be as welcoming and winsome to wounded hearts as they break open to the fact that Jesus is the way, the truth and the only way to a life worth living. (John 14:6)

Go Recovery church! You are beautiful!

Cover photo by Edward Cisneros on Unsplash

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No Overnight Success

Posted on August 22, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

I just published my memoir, Unmoored, How An Adoptee found Her True Identity. I am 72 years old, and I couldn’t have done it a moment sooner. Let me explain.

I’ve always loved stories. As a small child at my grandmother’s farm, I snuggled in bed beside my closest cousin, and we listened to tales where a fairy godmother revealed Cinderella’s true beauty and magic beans fulfilled their promise, allowing foolish Jack to climb their stalk into the clouds and slay a giant. The book I remember best contained lavish illustrations that drew me into the magic world of the story.

Fast forward to high school. Looking for a place to belong, I joined the creative writing club. I think I only wrote one poem, but I clearly recall a club hike to the top of a bald mountain in the Adirondacks. The wind was blowing so hard, I opened my parka, spread its coattails like wings, and leaned into the ferocious current of air, amazed that I didn’t fall over.

Years passed. I worked for a used bookstore, a small publisher, and an advertising department. I taught reading and writing from kindergarten to college. All my jobs were tangential to being an author, but until I became a believer nothing I wrote was ever published. My first short piece was about coming to Jesus. A friend asked me to write her testimony, and it too was published. I discovered small Christian women’s magazines and published several articles. I attended a Christian writers’ conference and joined a critique group.

At the time, I was reading gritty memoirs like Mary Karr’s Liar’s Club, and Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes. With the memoir boom, I was eager to tell my own story. But what scintillating tale did I have to offer as an adoptee with a sheltered suburban childhood? I read Anne Tyler novels instead and tried my hand at fiction, submitting short stories to secular magazines way out of my league and writing two unfinished novels.

But looking back, that was all preliminary.

When my children had flown the nest, I taught at an “underperforming” middle school. I leaned into that ferocious school, but this time I fell flat on my face. In an effort to dissect my disaster, I wrote initially in my journal, and then published my first creative non-fiction, Teacher Dropout: Finding Grace in an Unjust School.

I’d always thought my adoption was no big deal since the parents who raised me were wonderful. However, while writing Teacher Dropout both my mom and dad passed away, and my husband urged me to search for my biological parents before it was too late. Finding my genetic family brought me face to face with details of their lives I couldn’t have understood as a child. This led me to examine my growing up and coming of age in light of my adoption. I saw a kind of desperation blowing through my life just below the surface for a place to belong and an identity that could never be lost or taken away.

The other night I watched an American Masters documentary on PBS about author, Toni Morrison. She talked about the power of words to take us into the thoughts and experiences of another soul. Because that’s what we really want isn’t it? To connect, to relate, to know we aren’t the only one feeling what we’re feeling. Not the only one whose foolish mistakes have marked them with shame. Not the only one whose thinking and actions were beyond their control? That’s what I’ve tried to portray with both Teacher Dropout and Unmoored knowing that perhaps the reader craves the author’s open heart even more than the dramatic action of the plot. And knowing, from the time I was a little girl, the power of lavish illustrations I tried to paint my story with words.

So, you see I couldn’t have written Unmoored any sooner. It took me 72 years to understand my own life and hone my craft—hoping that as God has spoken his secrets to my soul, my story will whisper them to yours.

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

Isaiah 40:31 (NKJV)

Cover photo by Aksel Fristrup on Unsplash

Posted in Book Review, Flash memoir, Spiritual Growth, Uncategorized, Writing Process | Tagged , | 3 Comments

Painting and Publishing

Posted on July 29, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

I did two bold things yesterday. First, I pressed the PUBLISH button on Amazon for my memoir, Unmoored, How an Adoptee Found Her True Identity.  TA DA!

And two, I finished painting my living room a deep oceanic blue. This second item may sound mundane and unimportant compared to sharing the book I’ve been working on for close to a decade, but in some ways, they’re similar.

Let me explain. For several years I’d been looking at my living room walls thinking they were a blah color, but unsure what else to paint them. I had a favorite color in mind, but it seemed a bit wild. What if I wanted or needed to sell my house in the near future? Would the vibrant color I adored be a turn off to buyers? Shouldn’t I choose something more neutral? Something sure to please everyone? I saw examples of my favorite color used in curated rooms on Pinterest which looked great. But those rooms were put together by professional designers. Who did I think I was?

Long story short, last Friday my husband and I painted over the old beige, and it was the difference between settling for something and WOW that’s it! It may not be everyone’s taste, but it’s unabashedly me.

Painting my living room was like finally publishing my book in that a memoir is a personal story and telling it is a risk because it’s not neutral, it’s uniquely mine. My story won’t be for everyone, but for those it may serve I pray it will be a WOW concerning Jesus and God’s saving grace. And like deciding on a color, it’s a relief to finally take action to publish. I may not be a professional designer or a professional writer, but I believe this is the tale I was born to tell about my adoption and how it affected my sense of security and identity in ways that impacted my coming of age and coming to Christ.

So, here’s the cover of Unmoored and the link on Amazon including a detailed description and a sample excerpt. I hope you’ll check it out, and if you read it, would you do me the honor of writing an honest review. The more reviews the first few weeks after publication, the more the book is pushed to the top of its category, so interested readers will be able to find it.

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

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As an Outsider

Posted on June 17, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

More than twenty years ago I was teaching first-generation immigrant students in a public high school. They came from every trouble spot around the globe. They had crossed oceans, continents, deserts, and landed in my ELL classroom. My charge was to teach them English.

Some had never been to school or even held a pencil because their country had been at war for as long as they could remember. Some had dropped out of school because they were too poor to buy books. Some were well educated, but their families had left their home country to escape dangerous political regimes. Some had never seen a doctor, even after they’d broken bones. Some said it was normal in their nation to be stopped by the police, and unless you paid them, they wouldn’t let you go.

I was their first teacher in America. My classroom became an island of safety in a strange new world. They treated me as if I was their U.S. mom, and the Statue of Liberty lady all rolled into one. I held up my lessons as if they were my torch, as if English, the lingua franca of the world, was the golden key that opened opportunity and freedom for all. Freedoms and opportunities that had been ruined in their native land. And daily I witnessed the alchemy of the American Dream, powered by our founding principle e pluribus unum, out of many one.

Now when I turn on the TV, I witness the daily nightmare of immigrants disappeared without due process. And those who speak out on their behalf like Alex Padilla, a sitting senator, are forced to the ground and handcuffed.

All this makes me reflect on what my immigrant students taught me two decades ago:

  • That a stable American democracy is worth fighting for.
  • That quality public education is a must for every citizen in a democracy.
  • That medical research and healthcare for all make a nation strong.
  • That political corruption trickles down to affect us all.
  • That immigrants are determined, resourceful, and generous people.
  • That immigrants are the jet fuel that makes/made American great!

As an adoptee, born illegitimately, I know what it is to be an outsider, unable to remain in my family of origin. I also know what it means to be welcomed in by loving strangers.

Therefore, let’s not lose sight of the fact that we are all immigrants or the descendants of immigrants fleeing difficult circumstances, outsiders welcomed in by a beneficent nation.

And as Christian believers don’t we share much with the immigrant experience? Coming humbly before our God, seeking a new life, a second chance. Willing to renounce our former allegiances, eager for a new identity as a citizen of heaven that promises freedom from our past and a bright future. I still remember the mercy of Jesus who welcomed me in as an outsider in my most vulnerable state and made me the adopted daughter of the high king of heaven.

So, last weekend, in the rain, I attended my very first protest for No King’s Day—for me a protest on behalf of immigrants who are being dehumanized and disappeared without recourse—my intent not solely political, but to reflect the love and grace of our compassionate God.

Photo by DJ Paine on Unsplash

“You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way. Remember, you yourselves were once foreigners in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:21 NLT)

Cover photo by Fabian Fauth on Unsplash

Posted in Flash memoir, Spiritual Growth, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Where Have I Been? I Finished my Memoir.

Posted on June 7, 2025 by Ann C. Averill

Dear readers,

Why haven’t I blogged for over a year? First, I broke my wrist. Then my husband was hospitalized with a complicated case of pneumonia. I fell out of the habit of weekly blogging and became distracted by the world on fire—forgetting at times that Jesus said, “…In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33 (NIV)

Even if I wasn’t blogging, however, I was quietly editing my memoir trusting the truth of Revelation where the apostle John says, “And they have defeated him (meaning the devil) by the blood of the Lamb and by their testimony.” Revelation 12:11 (NLT)

A memoir is a kind of testimony, an eye-witness account of what you saw and experienced first-hand as authentication of a fact. Many memoirs are about how children with difficult childhoods overcome their upbringing against all odds. But I was rescued from the first as an illegitimate baby born in the conservative 1950’s who was adopted by wonderful parents who provided a comfortable, loving home as I came of age during the counterculture of the Woodstock Generation. On the outside, my life looked stable and ordinary, yet, as an adoptee, I always wondered who I really was, where I belonged, and ultimately what I was worth. These are universal questions, but for a child who didn’t know her biological identity, they harbored insecurities which plowed the ground for bad choices of growing proportion. It was a marriage crisis that ultimately revealed the love of Jesus who knows what it is to live in a cruel, confusing world and understands our weakness. It is his grace I want my memoir to verify by sharing this aspect of my life. You might think this a spoiler, but isn’t it the unique details of a journey that make it 0h so human and relatable. And aren’t our most important journeys begun long before we can read a map?

 So, announcement: Unmoored, How an Adoptee Found her True Identity should be available on Amazon as both an e-book and a print on demand paperback sometime in July just in time for beach reading and lazy summer afternoons. Exact date of publication coming soon.

I also want to say thank you for subscribing to my blog or reading my posts on Facebook. Your comments gave me the confidence and encouragement I needed to complete and release a very personal story in hope that it will resonate with others and bring the peace and healing that only experiencing the grace of God can fully supply.

I’d also like to invite all of you to be part of the excitement of bringing this memoir to fruition by being part of my launch team. What does that mean? What am I asking you to do?

Simple:

  1. The first week of publication, I’ll send you a picture of the cover along with a simple pitch. Would you please share it at least once on all your social media.
  2. The first week of publication, would you please buy at least the e-book and write a short, honest review on the Amazon site.  I’m asking for your purchase because only verified buyers’ reviews are posted on Amazon, and I need at least 50 reviews to make the book visible on their vast website.
  3. Most importantly, would you please pray for the readers God has prepared to hear and respond to my testimony about a fresh identity anchored in my adoption as a child of God through Christ, for without him we can do nothing.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5-6 NIV)

That’s it, friends. Thanks again for already being an important part of this adventure.  When I have an exact date of publication, I’ll send you the promotional pic and pitch, hoping you’ll help me carry the memoir project God placed on my heart onto completion.

For his glory,

Ann

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It Takes a Village

Posted on April 12, 2024 by Ann C. Averill

This week, as part of my book launch activities, I’ve been reading up on how to formulate a request for an endorsement of my memoir, Unmoored: How an Adoptee Lost and Found Her Deepest Identity in Jesus. In other words, how to craft an email to an author, publishing guru, or expert in my field that will make them eager to write enthusiastic things about my book for the back cover. This is what I’ve learned.

First, choose who to write to:

  • Select authors within your genre.
  • Authors you truly admire.
  • Authors and experts with whom you’ve already established a relationship personally, at a conference, or online.

Next, inform them that you’ve attached a PDF of one or two of your best chapters (marked confidential) that:

  • Hooks them with your intriguing story problem.
  • Conveys the theme, tone, and voice of your story.
  • Persuades them to request the complete manuscript

The request itself should include why you’re eager to have their particular imprimatur:

  • How you know them, or know of them.
  • How their work and your work connect.
  • How their work has helped you.

And Remember:

  • Begin your email with request for a book endorsement in the subject line.
  • End with a deadline for their endorsement based on your publishing schedule.
  • Aim high, but if you don’t get a yes right away, keep asking others.
  • You only need a few endorsements.

This sounds straight forward, but it is an emotional challenge to approach anyone you feel is above you on the ladder and ask them to look at your work, especially work that is close to your heart. And you must do this while living the rest of your life with all its duties, interruptions, joys, and heartaches.

For example, this week while writing this blog, I’ve also been dealing with a significant health issue in my immediate family. Close friends are dealing with different family issues of grave consequence, and we’ve carried each other’s burdens.

Photo by Simon Maage on Unsplash

This is about how to ask for a book endorsement, but if your not a writer, it’s also about how you ask for anything personal. What’s holding you back from revealing your need and asking those who can help you for the insight and comfort you need. 

Writing a memoir about a vulnerable time in my life has taught me the need to go back to go forward in healing. It’s also showed me how critical it is to have friends who love you and support you. And there’s no friend closer to Jesus and his present day disciples.

All to say, it takes a village to launch a story about your life, and it takes a village to live your life with hope over fear, and comfort even within suffering. Jesus knew this when he surrounded himself with a close village of disciples and told them before parting:

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

John 16:33 (NIV)

So, live your life, and tell your stories of how Jesus has rescued you time and again with the power of his love.

If you enjoy my stories about writing, publishing and spiritual growth, please hit the subscribe button above, so they can come directly to your inbox. And please share this blog on your social media with this link.

Cover photo by Antonino Visalli on Unsplash

Copyright Ann C. Averill 2024

Posted in Spiritual Growth, Writing Process | Leave a comment

Go for it!

Posted on April 5, 2024 by Ann C. Averill

Last week I wrote about giving myself permission to publish my memoir, resting on the God given truth that my worth does not rest on the quality of my achievement, behavior, or anything I produce. I am not my work. This is the basic gospel of grace applied to any creative and their endeavors.

That sounds so logical. Let’s all press the EASY button. But how many people I know are paralyzed from taking action for fear of making the wrong decision or doing a bad job.

Unfortunately that includes me. I admit much of my life I’ve been like the servant in Jesus’ parable in Matthew 25:14-30 who hides the talents his master has given him instead of investing them. But that’s not the servant I want to be anymore. Why? Because during the writing process, I’ve discovered I’m quite the perfectionist, unable to let anything go until it’s without flaw.

Of course that’s impossible. So I’m in a perpetual state of clench, revise, repeat. But if God is sovereign, yet offers us free will, why was I even asking him to show me if it is his will that I both write and publish my memoir? As long as I’m not doing something that’s against God’s commandments, I’m free to do anything I want.

“Here is my final conclusion: fear God and obey his commandments, for this is the entire duty of man.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13)

And if I make a mistake, act unwisely, or disobey even unconsciously, God’s overarching control is vast enough to repurpose any and all things for my good as a believer. (Romans 8:28) Perhaps I need to believe more in God and less in me.

My point is I’m free to go for it! And so are you!

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

I want to be more like Peter. Before Jesus called him and his fellow fishermen, they’d fished all night and caught nothing. Jesus, however, told Peter to put out into deep water and let down his nets. Although Peter obviously doubted, because Jesus said so, he did it! The result? So many fish his nets were about to break.( Luke 5:4-7)

This is who I want to be:

the disciple who trusts God enough to try,

knowing that the results of my labor are in his hands not my own.

And if my efforts fail or fall short, it’s my trust in God that honors him,

and brings me joy in my efforts.   

Therefore, this week I’m moving ahead, picking possible photos for the cover. Here’s one of me a few months after my adoption and the hand of the wonderful mother who loved me. What does this picture say to you? Let me know in the comments.

I want it to evoke how vulnerable I was from the start of my voyage, and yet God’s hand steadied me. Even before I trusted him, he was there and trustworthy!

So whatever doubts, decisions, or struggles you may now be facing, dear reader, remember God wants you to trust him and use the gifts and circumstances he gave you for his glory.

Q. 1. What is the chief end of man?

A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever

From the Westminster Shorter Catechism

What does that look like in your life today? I’d love to know in the comments.

If you’ve enjoyed this blog, please subscribe in the space to the above right.

Cover photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Copyright Ann C. Averill 2024

Posted in Spiritual Growth, Writing Process | 3 Comments

Harriet and the Rest of Us

Posted on March 27, 2024 by Ann C. Averill

I haven’t written here in a while. I could say it was because I broke my wrist and my family has had everything this winter from norovirus to pneumonia, but the real reason is because I was struggling to finish the memoir I’ve been working on for a decade. Yes, fellow writers for a decade. I don’t know if that is encouraging or discouraging.

I used to think I was taking so long because I was writing about experiences that took a long time to live out and figure out, but clearly there was something else at work, so in the midst of writing this blog I took a break and asked the Lord for clarity and encouragement.

That evening I watched a movie on Netflix entitled Harriet, a bio pic about the famous conductor on the Underground Railroad, Harriet Tubman. When Harriet determined to run away from her enslavers, her father sent her to her pastor who said,

“Remember fear is your enemy. Trust in the Lord!”

That was the phrase that resonated because I knew in an instant it was fear that was keeping me from putting my book into the public eye. But fear of what exactly? Wasn’t my memoir about overcoming my fear of rejection and ridicule. Fear of being singled out and left alone. All of which had led me into temptations and compromise I was ashamed of. Perhaps not unfounded fears for someone who was adopted even into a gracious loving family.

Photo by Kirt Morris on Unsplash

Harriet Tubman lived by trusting the Lord who literally led her to freedom. But then the Lord led her back into the land of slavery to rescue her brothers and sisters as well. I don’t pretend to have the audacious trust manifest by Harriet, but in my own small way this is the same mission the Lord has laid out for me, to lead others to the freedom I’ve found in my identity in Christ: freedom from being named by shame, and living in the unshakeable self-worth I’ve found in being adopted as a child of God.

Yet, how dare I publish a book about overcoming something I obviously still struggle with. What was going on?

The next morning as I was working on this blog, I heard my phone ping. It was a new blog post from Pamela Fernuik. https://www.ipaintiwrite.com/2024/03/25/you-dont-need-permission-to-create/

Asking someone for permission gives them the power to decide if what you want to do will be allowed or permitted. Say yes to yourself.”

Pamela Fernuik

So why couldn’t I give myself permission to publish my memoir?

If my book was tangled up with my identity, then if my book was not good enough neither was I. By putting my book into the public eye, I risked my old enemy fear screaming, see I told you you were worthless, worth less!

Few of us have the bravery of Harriet Tubman, but if my courage comes from my confidence in the Lord, who declares me his adopted daughter, holy, chosen, and beloved (Col. 12:3), regardless of my origins, failures, or accomplishments, then this is how I defeat my fears.

“Trust in the Lord.”

And give myself permission to continue the race God marked out for me.

Thanks to Harriet Tubman and Pamela Fernuik, I finished this blog and am beginning to format my manuscript, prepare a cover, and create a launch team for my memoir, Unmoored, How an Adoptee Lost and Found her Deepest Identity in Jesus.

If you’d like to cheer me on, I invite you to subscribe. If you’d consider being part of my book launch team in the near future, let me know in the comments. If you’re fighting your own fears, let me know, and I’ll pray for you. Let’s cheer each other on!

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

Hebrews 12:1 (NIV)

Cover photo by Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

Copyright 2024 Ann C. Averill

Posted in Flash memoir, Spiritual Growth, Writing Process | Leave a comment