Do you find that those who are closest to you, don’t know you? Do you have family members who don’t support your writing?

A prophet in his hometown is without honor, the Bible says. Among his own household, and with his own family, he is not honored.

Maybe this is on my mind because I had so much family around for the holidays. My family supports my writing. They think I’m talented. They like to read my stories. My father was the only one in my family who wasn’t supportive, but he never supported any of his children, poor fellow. He’s gone now, anyway, freed from his depression and the deep sense of shame he felt over himself and all his progeny, so I’m left with my mother who thinks I’m the smartest person who ever lived and my siblings and my children who like my stories or who are willing to lie to me, at least, if they don’t like them.

Still, I’m starting to write a nonfiction book and I’m thinking that I’m not going to be honored in my own family.

When Jesus says in his own house a prophet is without honor, he’s saying this because the people in his hometown think they know him. He’s a man just like any other man. They know his mother and his brothers and his sisters. He is no one special. He is no prophet.

But they don’t really know him.

In Jesus’s case he is dishonored, not because he’s a hypocritical sinner. He wasn’t.

Yes, he was often accused of sin. The religious leaders of the day accused him of blaspheming. They accused him of being a glutton and a drunkard. Worst of all, they accused him of being in league with Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, the Dung God. This was such a low cut. They were accusing him of being nothing better than a god who hung out with the flies on the dung piles.

They didn’t like him so they assumed God didn’t like him either. They saw him as an arrogant usurper. He was young and he dared to scold them. As if he knew better than they did. As if he was worthy of untying their sandals. They took great offense.

Their perceptions were faulty, though.  Jesus was no sinner.

I can’t make the same claim.

So I’m wondering how my family will react to my nonfiction book. Not that I’m going to include them in the book. But what will they say when they see me giving advice? As if anyone should listen to anything I say. I am, after all, the youngest in the family, and arguably the most messed up. If Jesus, the sinless one, was attacked when he said hard things, how much more easily will people want to knock me down a peg or two, when I start dishing out advice?

The people who know me will find my nonfiction book laughable, no doubt. They’ll know what a hypocrite I am. Because if my book is to be any good I have to communicate truth even though I fall short of practicing what I preach every day. I have to say, “Do what I say, not what I do.”

I feel a little arrogant, trying to give people advice. As if I’m in a wheelchair, telling physically fit people how to dance. And yet, I believe it’s possible for crippled people to learn from the injuries, and they might even see things from their vantage point that others can’t see as they rush about on their two legs.

What about you? Are any of you writing non-fiction? Do you have your family in mind when you write? How does your family react to your writing, either fiction or nonfiction?

One brother and one sister came from the west last week. They decided to skip Christmas this year and come out for Mom’s 90th birthday, instead. (Ninety years! Wow. And she’s still with it enough to hold her finger over the candle in an attempt to make the ninety look like a seventy.)

I like seeing my brothers and sisters. One of the benefits of living with my mother is that I get to see several members of the family each year. When I lived in Alaska I never got to join them for holidays. It cost too much to fly down. But now, here I am, in the thick of it.

My family is a game-playing family. Here are some of my favorites.

Great Games for Writers to Play

Creativity with words/acting/drawing:

• Balderdash
• Taboo
• Scattergories
• Guesstures
• Pictionary

Vocabulary:

• Boggle
• Scrabble

Factoids that might spark ideas:

• Wits and Wagers
• Trivial Pursuit

Last night we laughed so hard—I have one brother who is so funny—and we ate too much pizza and cake and ice cream, and we had a couple of margaritas and we played games and thoroughly enjoyed Mom’s birthday.

What about you? What are your picks for best games for writers?

It’s a blustery day here in Atlanta. Crisp, clear, blue sky, though. The best kind of blustery day. Everything smells clean and your cheeks get a little chill as you walk outside.

I just met a friend for lunch and coffee. We talked, as usual, about a lot of things: writing, God, depression, panic attacks, friends, family, work, funerals, pets, plots, books we love, books we hate, great writers, mediocre writers, church, dreams, frustrations, finances, weight and diet and health.

As usual.

These are recurring themes when we get together. These things are important to both of us. Areas where we keep seeking growth. And as I look back on the last seven years—seven years? Really? I’ve been in Atlanta seven years?—I see that we were talking about the same things seven years ago.

The same topics.

But what we have to say about these topics has changed. We have grown. We have learned things and moved forward. Seven years ago we hadn’t written the books we’ve written since then. We hadn’t had the experiences we’ve since had. My children were young, my husband and my father were still living.

Our days blow by, tumbling over one another, like dead leaves stripped from the trees and making way for the new leaves that will come. The world doesn’t stop spinning as we recuperate from operations or mourn the deaths of a loved ones or pray for wayward children. I’m always playing catch up. Each night I go to bed feeling like I haven’t gotten done the things God has given me to do. But when I look back seven years I see that the winds of time have scoured my life over and over again with trial. And then, too, they have come in gentle breezes carrying the sweet smells of spring.

I love the wind. Always have. Love it when it rages and love it when it whispers. It reminds me of God, powerful and gentle, and…exciting.

Where will the wind carry me this year, I ask. When I look back seven years from now, will I be surprised at how seriously I took my trials and how often I let blessing slip by unnoticed?

I resolve this year to walk each day noticing the wind, being thankful for the growing pains, loving the laughter, and watching in wonder as God moves.

I received an email newsletter last week from American Christian Writers that I found shocking. It started out with an anecdote: the author of the newsletter, James Watkins, was at a writers conference sitting at a breakfast table and one person at the table said he was on antidepressants. Another one said he was too. And then:

Around the table we went. Seven of the eight of us were on prescription antidepressants. The eighth, a fiction writer, was on an anti-psychotic.

Why was that shocking? I was amazed that 100% of the writers sitting at a random table would be on prescription drugs meant to treat mental illness. 100%! For real?

Watkins went on to explain why writers are prone to depression:

1. Creative people, like schizophrenics, “lack important receptors used to filter and direct thought.”
2. Writers often work alone, and don’t have people around to notice signs of depression.
3. Writers are “striving to succeed in a profession with a 99 percent rejection rate.”
4. Writing requires a vulnerability that is painful.

Along with these reasons, Mr. Watkins gave us ideas for fighting this depression. We could:

1. Join crit groups and get critiques that will act as filters to our creativity.
2. Hang with other people to make sure we’re not alone all the time.
3. Blog and write for newsletters so we aren’t always feeling the sting of rejection.
4. Spend time in therapeutic communion with other writers.

I don’t have any beef with any of that. My beef is with what Mr. Watkins didn’t say. He never said that being dependent on prescription drugs is not a good thing. He ends with a thanks to his table-mates, for the therapeutic effect they’ve had on him, and then he says, “Please pass the salt—and Prozac.”

So in the end he seems to be fine with taking Prozac to manage his anxiety/depression despite all the drug-free ways he give us to protect our mental health.

Now I don’t mean to slam people on Prozac. I suffered from panic attacks for 12 years, so I have nothing but sympathy for anyone who struggles with mental disorders. If you’ve never had a panic attack, you can’t imagine how awful they make you feel. There were times when I think I might have chewed off my right arm if someone could have guaranteed me that would have stopped the anxiety. But I wasn’t willing to take antidepressants. I haven’t had an attack in seven years and I am not on drugs. I’m not any less creative today than I was when I was having the attacks. I don’t have more friends or less rejection or less stress in my life, either. So for myself, at least, being a writer had nothing to do with the attacks and drugs weren’t necessary.

My questions are these: Is there a link between writers and depression? Do you think creative people are more prone to anxiety or depression than assembly line workers or secretaries? Do you think doctors are too quick to prescribe drugs and patients are too quick to take them? What do you do to take care of your physical and mental health?

I’ve wanted to be an author since I was very small. And always, I’ve read all the acknowledgments and the prefaces and the forewords in books. I was surprised when I grew up and met people who told me they didn’t read those things. How odd. To my mind it was all a part of the book. But in all of those acknowledgments I don’t recall people thanking Jesus. And whenever I’ve thought about who I might thank if I ever get published, I’ve never thought of thanking Jesus, either.

This is a little strange. I believe, after all, that I don’t take one breath apart from Christ. I think he made me and sustains me and I think if he were to forget about me for one second, I would cease to exist. “In him we live and move and have our being,” Saint Paul said, speaking of God. And I believe that.

I also believe that any talents I have were given to me by God, as he knit me together in my mother’s womb, and were strengthened by him as he gave me opportunities to practice and grow.

So why wouldn’t I thank him in the acknowledgment section of any books I might publish?

I’ve been thinking about this with all the Tebowing going on just now. I’m wondering what it is about this younger generation of Christians that makes them want to give public thanks to God. Veronica Roth, in the acknowledgments for her book, Divergent, said, first thing, “Thank you, God, for your Son, and for blessing me beyond comprehension.”

When I read that, I was happy. Other Christians are my sisters and brothers and I’m happy when they succeed at writing great books. But the acknowledgments of her book, seemed to me to be an odd place to thank God for sending Jesus. I liked it, though. I liked that she specifically thanked God for his Son, instead of just thanking God. Because in this culture, people thank God all the time and that doesn’t communicate anything to me. I can’t tell what god they believe in.

On the other hand, if Roth had thanked Allah or Vishnu or Buddha, I wouldn’t have been offended. I guess because I am a religious person, I’m not bothered when other people express religious affection for their gods.

So when I see Tim Tebow taking a knee I don’t know why that bothers some people. I think it makes perfect sense for him to be thanking God when he manages a touchdown or his teammate makes a field goal. I assume that he has asked God to give him strength to play well and to earn his money, and I assume he prays also for his teammates and for the players on the opposing team. I think if he feels compelled to take a knee publicly, then he should do it win or lose. I’m not sure if he does that or not, but I think he should. Job said, “The Lord giveth and he taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” We should all have that attitude towards God. If we believe that God is all-wise, all-powerful, and all-loving, we should praise him when he blesses us and praise him when he blesses others, believing that he’s doing right at all times.

And yet, I don’t think Tebow’s Christian colleagues are wrong to not thank God publicly. If other players pray silently on the sidelines asking God to give them strength to work hard and play well and earn their pay, then there is nothing wrong with them thanking him silently when he makes their legs strong and their hands sure as they carry the ball.

And authors? Is Roth right for thanking God and is ND Wilson wrong for not mentioning God in his acknowledgments? I tend to believe we all have to answer that for ourselves. But to answer that for ourselves I wonder if we need to think about the world we live in and how our actions affect others.

Tim Tebow and Veronica Roth have grown up in a different world than the one I grew up in. Could anyone have guessed forty years ago that a man would be paid 250 million dollars to play baseball for a decade?  In this culture, where movie stars and athletes and rich young authors are gods in the eyes of many, not least of all in their own eyes, I find it refreshing to see a handsome young man and a beautiful young woman giving thanks to God.

The Bible tells us that once people tried to worship Herod and because he did not give glory to God, he was struck down and he died. On the other hand, when people tried to worship Paul and Barnabas, the two “tore their garments and rushed out into the crowd, crying out, ‘Men, why are you doing these things? We also are men, of like nature with you…’” Likewise Tim Tebow and Veronica Roth. They are not gods. They didn’t give themselves their talents. They didn’t knit themselves together in their mothers’ wombs. They didn’t choose their eye color, their physical and intellectual abilities, or the homes where their talents thrived. It is right and good that they thank God. And, in this culture, it is right that they thank him publicly, I think.

What do you think? Does Tebowing bother you? Do you wish writers would not thank their deities in their acknowlegments? I’m interested in hearing how this public display of affection for God and/or goddess or the universe (I often see writers praying to the universe these days) hits others who aren’t religious. And if you are published or hope to be, who was/will be mentioned in your acknowledgments section?