What people are saying about …
Brave is the New Beautiful
“In Brave Is the New Beautiful, Lee Blum invites you to join a girls’ club of a new kind: one that encourages each member to move beyond the shallow waters of insecurity and strive toward a place of depth, courage, and authenticity.”
Gwen Smith, cofounder of Girlfriends in God and author of I Want It All and Broken into Beautiful
“Bravery looks different on all of us. Maybe for you, bravery is facing your fears so you can step out in faith. Maybe for someone else, it’s the willingness to give others access to her story or the courage to leave a job that props up her identity. We all have mountains to climb and giants to face, but we never go it alone. Jesus is with us, and bravery originates from him. He continually calls us upward and onward. If you’re in a season of life where you need a new brand of courage and a deeper sense of God’s faithfulness, read Lee’s beautiful new book. You’ll be reminded afresh that you are not alone and that you get to be a work in progress, without the condemnation. Isn’t that the best news ever? We’re cheering for you!”
Susie Larson, national speaker, talk radio host, and author of Your Powerful Prayers
“All of us strive to be beautiful, but even on days when the image in the mirror shines, we still don’t feel pretty because of the pain, shame, hurt, and loss we carry inside. Lee Wolfe Blum shares women’s stories, including her own, to peel back the layers. This book is a beautiful representation of the hope that follows the compassion, care, and bravery of sharing our stories. A worthy read!”
Tricia Goyer, author of more than sixty books, including Life, In Spite of Me with Kristen Jane Anderson
“‘The notion that anyone’s life is easy is a mirage,’” wrote Lee. This is a timely message for all who need reminding that our most enduring beauty often lies just beneath the surface of our brokenness.”
Constance Rhodes, founder and CEO of FINDINGbalance and author of Life Inside the “Thin” Cage
“In Brave Is the New Beautiful, Blum deftly dismantles the barriers that keep us from being our true selves—from being vulnerable and real with others. Without clichés and with real impact, Blum reminds us that life is messy and that we need one another. You will find yourself in these pages, and you will find your friends. And you will find your unique courage.”
Shayne Moore, founder of Redbud Writers Guild and author
“Though age has eroded my addiction to the culture of youth and beauty, I still sigh for wrinkle-free skin from time to time. Lee Blum has nailed the healthy alternative for women of any age: courage to go deeper. Her heroines are women who rose above disfiguring accidents, who tore themselves away from destructive relationships, who endured the death or illness of a child. I especially resonated with the chapter on reinvention, a path I have traveled and highly recommend. Read this book and be inspired to find your own brave beauty.”
Carolyn Miller Parr, MA, JD, retired judge and coauthor of In the Secret Service
“Lee Wolfe Blum helps her readers understand that courage is not denying, coping, or white-knuckling it but is accepting our brokenness as a gateway to joy. She skillfully guides us through narratives of loss, disappointment, and pain so that we might develop a more authentic faith and become the beautifully brave women God created us to be.”
Dorothy Littell Greco, author of Making Marriage Beautiful
“In this refreshing and beautiful book, Lee guides readers to embrace their authentic selves, noting that it’s not as easy as it sounds and takes tremendous courage. Full of first-hand experience and dozens of anecdotes, Lee paints a vision for how powerful women can be when they embrace life fully and freely.”
Kirsten Haglund, community relations specialist at Timberline Knolls Treatment Center and Miss America 2008
BRAVE IS THE NEW BEAUTIFUL
Published by David C Cook
4050 Lee Vance Drive
Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.
David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications
Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England
The graphic circle C logo is a registered trademark of David C Cook.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,
no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form
without written permission from the publisher.
The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.
Details in some stories have been changed to protect the identities of the persons involved.
Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked THE MESSAGE are taken from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 2002. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc; NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica, Inc; NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
LCCN 2016954686
ISBN 978-1-4347-1030-7
eISBN 978-1-4347-1038-3
© 2017 Lee Wolfe Blum
The Team: Alice Crider, Erin Healy, Amy Konyndyk, Nick Lee, Abby DeBenedittis, Susan Murdock
Cover Design: Emily Weigel, Faceout Studio
Cover Photo: Stocksy and Shutterstock
First Edition 2017
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
122116
To the brave and beautiful women in this world:
may we know them; may we raise them; may we be them.
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.
Wendy Mass, The Candymakers
Foreword
1. Shrinking
2. Confronting
3. Shifting
4. Telling
5. Hoping
6. Reinventing
7. Forgiving
8. Separating
9. Belonging
10. Enduring
11. Believing
12. Choosing
13. Breathing
14. Surrendering
15. Trusting
16. Rising
17. Cheering
Acknowledgments
Notes
About the Author
No, God! Please don’t ask me to tell THAT story!
I’d shared the sexual skeletons in my closet through the Every Woman’s Battle series, but they paled in comparison to this horrid secret.
I had killed someone by my own negligence, because of my own vanity.
I was a sixteen-year-old junior in high school, driving to my first-period class. I’d driven fewer than two miles from our country home when I remembered that I hadn’t yet put on lipstick. As I adjusted the rearview mirror and quickly applied the lipstick, my car jolted. Hard. Really hard. My first thought was that maybe I’d hit a farm animal. But I had a sinking feeling it was much worse.
That feeling was confirmed when I ran back to the point of impact and discovered a curly-headed woman lying facedown in the grass next to a mangled bicycle. I was the one who did this to her. The realization almost took me to my knees. I desperately wanted to bolt and pretend it didn’t happen, but I knew it was entirely up to me to get this woman the emergency help she needed. I ran toward the nearest house as fast as my jelly sandals allowed, but no one was home and the door was locked. So I ran back to my car, drove to the next nearest house, and frantically dialed 911.
A whopping forty-five minutes passed before an ambulance finally arrived. But looking right past me, the paramedic coldly explained, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to call a funeral home. There is nothing we can do here.”
That was August 27, 1984. Her name was Marjorie Jarstfer, and her grieving husband, Gary, soon proved to be the bravest, most beautiful image bearer of God that I’ve ever encountered. He invited me over the night before Marjorie’s funeral to tell me about her life and their work as missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators. After holding me oh so tight for the longest time and letting me cry all over his flannel shirt, he sat me down in the bay window of their living room, where I gazed hollow-eyed at numerous family photos displayed on a nearby table. I saw how lovely Marjorie was, how much in love she and Gary must have been, and how they obviously were very proud of the family they’d created together. As hard as this was for me, I could only imagine how much harder all of this had to be on Gary and their three adult children.
Gary explained how Marjorie considered herself the bride of Christ and how there was no limit to how much Marjorie loved the Lord. He even elaborated that she had such a close relationship with God that she’d actually sensed lately that he would be calling her home soon. Yeah, I know. Unimaginable! Gary then expressed his belief that I had been chosen by God to usher Marjorie into heaven because he knew I’d be strong enough to handle it. I didn’t feel strong at all at the time. I was absolutely leveled and flabbergasted at the strength Gary was trying so hard to impart to me. I couldn’t wrap my brain around such unconditional love and mercy.
I still can’t wrap my brain around it.
As the next several years unfolded, I was invited to funerals, weddings, baby dedications, and Jarstfer family gatherings. To this day, Marjorie’s children call me “sister” and her grandchildren call me “Aunt Shannon.” I was not only forgiven by this family, but adopted.
As a result of this family’s lavish love, my image of God was gradually transformed—from a distant disciplinarian to a big, burly middle-aged man in a flannel shirt, ready to scoop me up in a warm embrace and let me cry all over his shoulder, no matter how deeply I’d hurt him.
So how could I not share “our story”? I simply had to. No question.
Together, Gary and I were interviewed by almost every major Christian media outlet. Speaking invitations came pouring in, including a couple for Women of Faith conferences. We were so blessed to be able to share the story with so many. This also miraculously opened the door to minister to several others who questioned whether they could possibly survive the guilt of what they’d done. Such as the teenage boy who didn’t tie the rappelling knots tight enough to support his best friend. The babysitter who turned her back on the baby she was bathing in the tub when the phone rang. The pastor’s wife who accidentally ran over a woman and her dog one foggy night. No one ever asks to join the I Accidentally Killed Someone Club. But it is a comfort to know that you’re not the only member. And if other members can learn to live with the guilt and remorse, perhaps there’s a thread of hope to hold on to.
The truth is, no matter what we’ve experienced in life—death, divorce, disease, devastation of any kind—there’s always someone who has suffered similar wounds. And when “we can comfort those … with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Cor. 1:4 NIV), something truly supernatural takes place. We simultaneously learn and teach the four most powerful words in the English language—you are not alone.
Isn’t that what we all should strive to reveal to the world around us—that we are not alone in our struggles, our strife, our disillusionments, our disappointments? That we can hobble wounded and emotionally bloodied through life’s battles, yet still cultivate the courage to let our stories matter! Our life experiences most certainly matter, especially when we bravely use them for God’s glory and for the comfort and encouragement of his people.
When Alice Crider, an editor at David C Cook, told me about the concept of Lee Wolfe Blum’s book, my heart did a backflip. Brave Is the New Beautiful. The title alone had me! Then I learned that Lee would be boldly unpacking various inspiring stories, including her own journey from barely surviving to thriving, and that she would be helping readers cultivate courage to share their own tragedy-to-triumph experiences. Some of these stories don’t necessarily have “happily ever after” or “wrap it up with a pretty bow” type of endings. But the lessons gleaned certainly plant seeds of hope deep in the fertile soil of the human heart. I was ready to write a resounding endorsement based on the concept alone.
Then Lee asked if I’d be willing to mentor her through my B.L.A.S.T. program and help her with the launch of this book. I was absolutely elated, especially when I read the complete manuscript. I devoured it (and believe me, you will too) and quickly caught the vision that this book has the potential to start a whole new spiritual and emotional revolution! Why? Because vulnerability breeds vulnerability. Bravery breeds bravery. Beauty breeds beauty. Lee has done a tremendous job of inspiring genuine vulnerability, selfless bravery, and stunning beauty within these pages you’re about to encounter.
Yes, you read that right … this book isn’t just something you read. It is something you truly experience. It will be a magnificent encounter with something real and raw, something holy and sacred.
So if you want to leave a lasting legacy of being someone who changes the world through her own willingness to be vulnerable, who encourages others to be their bravest selves, and who radiates irresistible beauty because she brings out the beauty in others, then read on with great anticipation of what God can first do in you and then as a result through you.
Shannon Ethridge, MA
B.L.A.S.T. coach and bestselling author
She is brave and strong and broken all at once.
Anna Funder, Stasiland
This is my moment. I have finally made it. I have arrived. Dana, a super-hip staff member at my church, stands on the large stage with a piece of paper in her hand and prepares to introduce me to a sizable audience of women.
The room is alive with flickering candles. Women are seated at round tables, eager to be inspired. I sit among them, waiting for my call to the stage, my stomach tight and anxious, my armpits perspiring. Despite changing my outfit three times, I’ve chosen a sweater too warm for this event.
I’ve dreamed about speaking here, at my home church, this church, where I whispered prayers for years in the wooden pews. Where I sat crying over miscarriages and funerals, and where I now watch my children perform in the annual Christmas play.
My church.
Dana introduces me and stumbles over my name. As she continues, staring at her paper, it sounds like she is reading the details on the back of a shampoo bottle—without glasses. She mumbles something about me having written a book. The crowd welcomes me with obligatory applause.
So much for arriving.
Have I expected too much? Maybe. I remind myself that I’m not the main speaker. She’s the one sitting next to me, another author named Sharon, whom they flew in from Colorado. She’s the one they advertised, the crowd-pleaser, the reason all these women bought tickets. I’m just the warm-up.
I suck in a breath, and despite my shaking knees, I walk up to speak. I appear relaxed on stage, and the audience even laughs at the right parts. My talk is brief, and I promptly return to my seat at the round table. Sharon pats my arm, leans over to me, and kindly whispers, “Nice job!”
Though she’s sincere, I feel like the girl who was invited to the party not because the host wanted me there but because someone said it would be the nice thing to do.
Sharon has her eyes fixed on the stage, and I turn to look at her. I notice a large brown leather bracelet on her left arm with the word BRAVE tooled into it. I examine her face shadowed by the candle. She’s so pretty. She has long, thick brown hair and cool, trendy black glasses. I can tell by the way she holds her body upright and by the settled look in her eyes that, yes, she is brave.
I bet her knees don’t shake when she talks.
Dana is back on the stage now, introducing Sharon. This time she holds only one thing: Sharon’s book. She clutches it to her chest as she would a treasured Christmas gift and speaks intensely into the microphone while looking out into the audience. She doesn’t need a paper to assist her; she’s speaking from her heart. Her voice is smooth and calm, her monologue deep with admiration for Sharon and her amazing, life-changing book. She says excitedly, “What a huge gift it is to have Sharon speaking here in our church!”
I wonder if jealousy smells like my sons’ hockey bags. You can’t even take a breath around them without feeling as though you’re going to vomit. I fear that if any of these women walk by me, they’ll smell my jealousy. It’s oozing from my pores.
This is my church, and I feel invisible.
I’m glad Sharon has left the table for the stage. I compare myself to her and the way she’s been presented as the finest main course possible. My mind abstracts: I don’t matter. Once the comparison begins, shame surges, charging through me like an army.
Dana didn’t say those nice things about you. She doesn’t even know how to pronounce your name! Look at that, Lee. You don’t matter. They don’t see you. Your family didn’t see you, and now your own church can’t either. You think you’re something and you try hard enough, but it’s always the same, isn’t it, Lee? Why do you think things will ever be any different?
I try to combat the voice of shame berating me, but it doesn’t retreat. I push my shoulders back and lift my head to try to be strong. But it’s too late. I’ve been pierced, right through that tender spot over my heart. I want to run out, to disappear, to get out of this room full of women who want to be inspired.
Why did they even ask you to come?
I look up at Sharon. She’s glowing on center stage, already wowing us all, and I smile.
Let me tell you some of the things that come easy to me. It’s easy to talk mean to myself, easy to believe everyone is better than me and has it better than me. It’s easy to look at another woman and want what she has, and hard to celebrate and be content with what I have. It’s easy to post the best pictures of myself on Facebook and quickly delete the rest.
It’s easier to yell than to cry, easier to paste a fake smile on my face than to speak my mind. It’s easier to grab a glass of wine than to stand awkwardly empty-handed at a party, easier to act as though I have it all together than to admit I’m struggling. Easier to have people over to my house when it’s clean than when it looks like something from an episode of Hoarders. Easier to speak Christianese to someone who’s hurting than to sit in silence and be a witness to her pain.
Not all these things are bad. They’re just easier.
It’s easier to hide than to be seen. And it’s easy to believe everyone else is kinder, more beautiful, and more deserving than I am. It’s easier to shrink than to rise.
So in situations like the one I faced at my church, I reached for my smiling mask. When I’m in a room full of women who seem to be better, prettier, and braver than I will ever be, I put on the mask that hides the fact I’m brimming with shame. I’ve worn it so frequently that it fits my face well. I tie it on tightly and hide behind my friendly Christian facade.
When Sharon’s talk ends, the audience erupts with earsplitting applause. Dana returns to the stage and enthusiastically announces that Sharon and I will both be at a table, ready to sign our books. I go to my designated spot and reach into my purse for lipstick. I have to wear lipstick if anyone wants to take a photo with me or I’ll look like I’m lipless.
I smack my lips together and lift my head, ready to meet my fans as I peer into a long line of people that bends around the edges of the room.
I keep my mask on and smile.
And I wait.
I feel gusts of air as one by one the women pass by me and walk to Sharon.
All of them. Some nod at me. Others just move on through. I smile awkwardly, trying to be gracious, but it feels as though I’m in seventh grade and have found myself trapped in the wrong classroom after the bell has rung.
When the evening finally ends, I can’t get home fast enough. I run into the safety of my dark bedroom and close the door. Alone, I can take the mask off. I fall into my old mahogany rocking chair and let the emotions burst out. I let the ugly cry have its time. I rock back and forth, and sob. Shame and embarrassment fill every part of my body, while my mind and spirit break into little pieces on the floor.
My sweet husband, Chris, quietly walks up the stairs and sits on the bed. He doesn’t say anything but waits patiently while I wipe snot off my face.
“I’m quitting,” I tell him. “Quitting writing, speaking, and anything that even resembles it. I am done. Finished. How stupid of me to ever think I could do this.”
We’ve been married long enough that Chris knows to let me ramble when I’m in an emotional frame of mind. He knows I don’t want fixing. Plus, he’s very, very patient, so he just sits and listens.
Finally, when there’s space in the air and I’m done with my rant, he quietly says to me, “Lee, is this why you write and speak? To prove you matter? To prove you’re good enough?”
I don’t answer. The truth sounds so shallow.
“Don’t you know that God loves you just as you are?”
No, I don’t. But Chris knows my default mode of living is to strive to earn love. I do this with others and with God. I don’t always write for approval or applause, but sometimes I do. Sometimes I just want to know that the world thinks I am okay. It doesn’t seem too much to ask.
It takes me a while to recover from this night. To pick up the broken pieces of me off the floor and then to take a step back and evaluate why I speak and write. After I bandage up my wounded ego, my mind returns to Sharon’s bracelet, the one inscribed with BRAVE. What does it mean to her? Is bravery about standing on a stage and sharing a story, or is it something deeper, something less obvious?
What does it mean to be a brave woman?
I can’t get this question out of my head.
When I looked at Sharon that night, I saw her bravery and thought it was beautiful. I couldn’t help but think she was beautiful. I thought of other times when I was around people who were brave, and I realized I’ve always experienced awe-inspiring admiration for them. I can always see beauty in the brave one.
So then I wondered, What is beauty? What is true beauty in this world of manufactured messages about flawlessness and youth and the skinny ideal? Our Western culture constantly bombards us and berates us with messages of how we should be and how short we fall. So we don our masks because we can never measure up. We hide in our dark bedrooms or medicate our anxiety or both. We know we’re a hot mess and suspect we always will be. We lose our courage. We become numb.
The more I thought about this, the more I sensed that bravery is at the root of true beauty, the kind that is attractive regardless of one’s physical appearance. I began to suspect that the words brave and beautiful are sisters, maybe even conjoined twins. For the one who chooses to do it, stepping into bravery might be like stepping into a terrible fear. But for those of us watching, we stand in awe, soaking in the magnificent splendor of courage. We know without being told: this is the kind of beauty no magazine can portray and no advertisement can promise to deliver.
So how do we not hide from our fear and shame? How do we not get sucked into comparing ourselves with one another and measuring our worth by our own ruler? How do we toss the measuring stick aside and act out of bravery every day?
In an effort to find out, I searched for brave women who could answer my questions.
I don’t know why I thought they would be hard to find. On the contrary, I couldn’t have dodged them if I had tried. But the real surprise was that so many of these women didn’t see themselves as either brave or beautiful. This is how powerful our external pressures and inward thoughts can be. Even when we are brave, we deny it. We gloss over the beauty of our own courage by deflecting attention or demurring or … wait for it … comparing. Well, I don’t have it as bad as Jane. I’m not as amazing as Jessica. Lots of women have walked in my shoes. I haven’t done anything special.
I beg to differ. Because along the sidelines of the headline news are inspiring tales of bravery hidden in the mundane details of women’s everyday lives—women who make the decision to get up every morning and keep putting one foot in front of the other, doing what is good and right despite the crises and turmoil and dilemmas life tosses at them. These are women steadily making the decision to step out of the boat to walk on the water. Women choosing to take off their masks and live their most authentic life.
In the following pages I will tell you some of their stories and a few more of my own. This book is an exploration of what these sweet sisters, brave and beautiful, have come to mean to me, what I believe they mean to our Creator, and how they might inspire us to live despite fear and without shame, free of our masks.
I am excited for this adventure and what we might learn from one another.
Won’t you join me?
1. Do you have a protective mask you wear when you feel shame or discomfort? What does your mask say about what’s important to you?
2. Think of a time when you felt pain by being compared to others and feeling you were lacking. How did this event shape your beliefs about yourself and/or a choice you made about your future?
3. What makes you shrink back from your hopes, dreams, and relationships?
4. Do you think of yourself as a brave woman? Why or why not?