Fame

The Festival of Faith & Writing is over.  I learned a lot, heard a number of good speakers, settled on a new acceptance of who I am . . .

And I got to hear Anne Lamott speak.

That catches quite a few people.  When I mention I was at the Festival, the first question people who know about it ask is, "Did you get to hear Anne?!"

And I did.  And it was wonderful.  And that, coupled with a few other experiences, have made me do some thinking.

One of the speakers, Julia Spencer-Fleming, said, "One of the things that surprised me was the quasi-fame you get when you publish a novel."

I saw that over my three days at Calvin College.  I had a woman interrupt her conversation with me to say, "Is that Anne Lamott walking in the door?"  (I probably would have done the same to myself if it had been.  But the woman didn't even look a bit like Anne . . . beyond being a woman.)  People applauded when Anne walked on stage, but they didn't do that for James McBride--winner of the National Book Award.  Hundreds of people waited hours to get autographs in books purchased just for the occasion.  Readers spent hundreds of dollars for a chance to hear their favorite authors speak or (gasp!) have a chance to say hello.

Don't get me wrong.  It was an amazing experience to run into a new favorite author at another session--he was there to learn, to observe, just like I was.  While my dad and I were speaking with an old friend, Hugh Cook, Miroslav Volf, and Scott Cairns walked past at separate times.  And I got to hear Anne Lamott, James McBride, Rachel Held Evans, Miroslav Volf, and a dozen other authors speak about their trade and how faith intersects to create art.  It was an incredible experience.

But it was also incredible to catch up with our old friend, there on the sidewalk outside the Prince Conference Center.  And it was amazing to hear Anne speak about grace and the collision of joy and grief and mourning and celebration while she spent her birthday at the funeral home of a young man who was like a son to her.  And the best part of all was hearing--and remembering and realizing for the first time--that Anne is just like me.  And you.  And all of us.

So that was on my mind when I sat in a hard church pew next to my husband this morning.  That was on my mind when the offering started and the worship team led us in praising God, "The Famous One."

You are the Lord
The Famous One
The Famous One
Great is Your name in all the earth
You are the Lord
The Famous One
The Famous One
Great is Your fame beyond the earth

Chris Tomlin nailed it, and he brought everything home for me in a way that shocked me and humbled me and gave me chills.

God is the famous one.  He is known throughout the earth and beyond it; He is seen in the stars and the rain falling outside my window and the three little girls sleeping upstairs in their beds.  And He is my friend.  He speaks to me daily, and He desires to know me and be known by me.  Amazing.

I had the chance to wait in line to have Anne sign my copy of Traveling Mercies.  I chose not to, because . . . the line was long, she's just a person, it was late, I was tired.  Because I didn't need her scribble in my book to remind me that I had seen her and heard her and learned from her.  Because why?  She's just another person, a sinner, used by God because she was faithful to His call on her life.

Then, when I was sitting in church, lifting my hand in the presence of the Famous One, He impressed something amazing on my heart.

"Beka," His inaudible voice said to my heart.  "YOU are my autograph.  You are my scribble.  I'm tucked there inside you."

And I am.  I'm God's scribble in the cover of a work of His creation, purchased just for this occasion.  And so are you.  Be His scribble.  Live that reality.  And let us never forget how special that makes us.

(Full disclosure: I did get William Kent Krueger's autograph in my copy of Ordinary Grace.  But I call that connections.)