Grace in Saint Louis by Heidi Chiavaroli

Heidi Chiavaroli

As I unpack my suitcase and mull over the events of the 2014 ACFW Conference, I am in awe—again—of God’s ever-present grace.

Where God’s grace found me:

Saturday

12:30PM, Baggage Claims, St. Louis Airport—As I watch the carrousel come to a stop…without spitting out my luggage.

12:35PM, Baggage Claims Desk—As tears flow, I explain to the Delta clerk I have an appointment with an editor in two hours. I CANNOT wear jeans and sneakers. Neither would jeans do for the Gala that night.

No makeup. No hair products. No dress. And certainly no spanx. More tears.

1:00PM, Shuttle To Hyatt—Via cell, I pour out baggage woes to hubby and parents. Weird, but a strange peace fills me. I vow to fashion skirt out of hotel curtains if need be.

2:15PM, Hyatt—I spot my friend, Melissa, who offers khakis and a shirt for my appointment. I borrow her MIL’s Birkenstocks, three sizes too big, but better than sneakers.

3:00PM, Appointment—Gracious editor doesn’t seem offended by unruly hair, imperfect makeup, and too-big Birkenstocks.

3:25PM—Melissa issues Facebook plea for dress.

4:20PM—No Facebook bites. Drastic measures must ensue. Melissa and amazing friend, Karin, and I power walk through St. Louis. These friends must prepare for Gala, but they accompany me on quest for cheap perfect dress.

4:38PM, Can’t-Remember-The-Name-Dress-Store—Amidst pricy dresses, I settle for a dress in clearance section.

5:01PM—Check with guest services. Luggage still not here.

5:15PM—Put on dress and realize all undergarments can be seen through dress.

5:30PM, Melissa’s Room—Don black pants and Birkenstocks and assure myself it’s not that bad. (Oh, but it is!)

5:40PM—Step into elevator with ladies in stunning gowns and perfect curls, my own frizzy hair and makeup pitiable in comparison.

5:43PM—Elevator doors open on fourth floor. Tear off Birkenstocks and run downstairs to lobby to inquire of luggage one more time. In a small miracle I still can’t fathom, I am told my luggage has arrived. I do happy dance. Clerk refuses to get luggage until I repeat happy dance.

5:45PM—Late for Gala. I ask Happy Dance Clerk to break the lock on my suitcase. He is excited to do this.

5:48PM—I drag my luggage to the nearest bathroom where I change and thank God the entire time.

8:30PM—I accept the Genesis award for Historical Fiction and make my speech. My appearance is far from perfect, but I have a dress. God has supplied me what I need.

Through all this, I felt a sense of undeserved caring—through friends and attendees, through the Hyatt staff, and mostly through God. On the plane ride home I wondered what He was trying to teach me through this. Then it hit me. He wasn’t trying to teach me anything.

He was trying to show me. Himself. His amazing grace.

Extravagant enough to send His only Son to die for me, simple enough to send a dress three minutes before a Gala.

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Heidi Chiavaroli writes History Woven in Grace. She is a wife, mother, disciple, and grace-clinger. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and has finaled in the Genesis contest and My Book Therapy’s Frasier contest.

Golden Calves and Summer Stories by Heidi Chiavaroli

Heidi Chiavaroli

As I finish up my fourth manuscript, prepare to attend the ACFW Awards Gala in St. Louis, and evaluate my summer with both my family and my writing, I feel a nagging prod to look at myself closely.

It’s not a pleasant prod. More like a pointy icepick sort of prod. You know the feeling that something within your spirit needs to be addressed, but you’d rather ignore it? Rather stuff it deep inside, bury it far behind other secrets and shames you’d like to ignore—behind that half-gallon container of ice cream you ate while alone in the house, behind that argument where you lost your temper with your husband or children?

Yeah, way back there.

As I prepared to write this post, I couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling any longer. I looked for other topics, blamed my lack of creativity on the recent edits I accomplished. But the feeling couldn’t be ignored.

And I wonder if maybe I’m not alone.

This summer I gave myself a writing deadline. I wanted to submit my work to my dream agent by the beginning of September. And I did finish. Only the satisfaction wasn’t as complete as it should have been. And I realized why this week.

You see, idols are more than golden calves.

They come in a variety of forms, but to me, this summer, I made my writing into an idol. I placed it before other responsibilities, before my family, even before my God.

My summer was not incredibly peaceful and I’m ashamed to say that maybe I even knew why. This is not my first rodeo with the Writing Idol. But I kept shoving the knowing aside, burying it deeper, putting my plans and goals ahead of what—and Who—I knew to be more important than all else.

This summer is done. I can’t get it back. I can only ask for forgiveness, learn from it, and look forward. I can only fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith.

I am so thankful I don’t have to keep looking into a mirror and evaluating all my failures. Instead, I can look through the window of faith at Jesus and all He has already done for me.

It is my prayer that we would be diligent in reminding one another of this truth. As writers—and especially as Christian writers—it is easy to get caught up in our stories, in what we believe and hope they will accomplish in the name of our Savior.

I know I, too often, look to my own small efforts and feeble attempts. I forget to look through that window to where Christ has proclaimed, “It is finished!”

Thank God for His saving grace. Thank God for His ability to unearth the ugliness of my spirit and love me into true obedience.

Have you ever discovered your writing to be a golden calf? What helps you from falling into this way of thinking and believing?

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Heidi Chiavaroli writes History Woven in Grace. She is a wife, mother, disciple, and grace-clinger. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and has finaled in the Genesis contest and My Book Therapy’s Frasier contest.