This all began and ended last summer. It starts with being contacted because someone recommended me as a good writer.  You can imagine the instant flattery. I will not pretend it is not wonderful to be complimented as a writer.

The very first conversation I had with the agent (of sorts) was about editing a book written by a Christian athlete. I was elated. I tried to play it a little cool just so I would not freak out the guy I was talking with. But this sounded like work I would enjoy and the money sounded good.

But after a few weeks of emails and paperwork, things changed. What started out as being described as an editing job was starting to look more and more like me doing a lot of writing and while someone else would be credited as the author.

I was familiar with the practice of ghostwriting. And I had heard about the scandal of it in the Christian publishing industry. I wasn’t appalled. I’m too cynical for that. But I was surprised at how widespread it had become – to the point of me being asked to do it.

The very idea of being involved put my stomach in knots.

Who was I being asked to Ghostwrite for? Let’s just say a celebrity in some circles. I had never heard of him so it’s possible you would not know him, but many might. And he’s a nice guy. We talked on the phone and exchanged some emails. He means well.

He just did not want anyone else’s name on the cover. He actually said this.

He said this even though he had not yet even thought about the book besides an overarching theme. No paradigm. No outline. No chapter ideas. Nothing. I would have been expected to be the principal writer, from beginning to end, for a book not yet thought through.

The money would have been good. While we are not poor, we were doing good if we lived paycheck to paycheck. We still tread water to keep our financial head above the waterline. We never float. Saying “no” to this kind of job was not easy if only because we need – not just want – the money. Plus, I love getting paid to write. It’s spendable flattery. And the lights stay on.

But I was not going to ghostwrite. So, as hard as it was, I said “no”.  And here is why:

1) We live in a celebrity-driven culture. Inside and outside the church this is the case. Most would rather listen to a celebrity preacher and worship leader than their own pastor and music guy…you know, the ones who pray for them weekly. And we long to leverage that celebrity like some kind of unholy alliance with a pagan fulcrum. We push and pull and hope people will listen because of the voice. It’s a baptized version of the cult of personality. If this were not the case, Ghostwriting would not exist. Unless you are trying to capitalize upon the celebrity status of a person who does have the wherewithal to pen a volume, the need would not be there.

2) There is a reason they call them “ghostwriters.” They are present in the work. Just not seen. Not outright acknowledged. If they were acknowledged on the cover by a “With…” then the writer appears. They are present and seen as collaborators. They now have flesh and blood, skin and bone. They get royalties. Why would anyone not want the principal writer seen? It can only be pride or money. Pride wants all the credit. More money can be made if the work is seen as solely that of the celebrity.

3) Writing is hard and not everyone can do it well. This is nothing to brag about. Bragging about being able to write well is…well, like bragging because you can do plumbing. Pipes and fixtures are hieroglyphic mysteries to me. I can write but I can’t fix a darn thing. So boasting is excluded. But it is not easy to write and to write a book is even more difficult. I know because I have done so. Piecing together all those words and sentences into form and function is craft. Ghostwriting at once acknowledges this and then denies it. It acknowledges it in up-front payment and then denies it in production. “We think you have the talent to do this. But you will not be acknowledged as the author. The craft of writing a book is beyond our celebrity figure but he will get the credit for the book.”

4) It is flat dishonest. If you did not write the book, you are not the author. Or you are not the principal author. This is not hard. We teach our children not to take credit for work that is not theirs. Is this not the same? Except money is involved.

5) I simply would not be able to live with myself. This would mean I could be bought at a price. Whatever they would pay me would be my thirty pieces of silver I would not enjoy having in the least bit. My insides would be a mess till hung up, I’d have to spill my guts eventually in sorrow. I’d rather this writing be a hobby and do honest hard work than take this gift and use it  in a way in which respect for my work and my character are at odds.

6) How many books by gifted writers are squeezed out by such schemes? Stop and wonder with me for a moment. How many really great sentences have we have missed out on? How many wordsmiths languish in the shadows while celebrity non-writers have book signings? It staggers the imagination. More than that, it wars with conscience. Just because you are a good athlete or an eloquent preacher does not mean you should “write” a book. Of course if you can write and be a good athlete and be an eloquent preacher, by all means.

7) Of course, celebrities have a habit of being. But what if – think about this with me – what if we cultivated a christian publishing culture in which the writer became a celebrity for a time, because she could write? Instead of the culture we have now, where you write because you are a celebrity? Or someone writes for you, as the case before us demands. Imagine the unique experience of every time you picked up a Christian book, you knew the author was listed on the front of the book.

8) Can you imagine the hand of the body saying to the eye of the body, “I have need of your particular skills but let’s not be up front about the whole thing”? Just as Paul’s concern for the church was total, ours should be too. For this is an issue of how the church sees itself. Do the stars shine brighter? Do we orbit around the spheres of influence just hoping and praying they will dance with us? Is this the world in which we live and move and breath? Or do we inhabit a Kingdom with a King around which we gladly fall? You’d think we just find substitutes till the last day. And if the Christian celebrity and the Christian publishing house cannot muster the moral inertia to cast into print the actual author of a book, then is the ground level at the cross? Maybe it’s tiered.

9) It is possible my name could have ended up in the acknowledgements. A very good chance, I might add. So good I could guarantee it. But what would it have said? “This book could not have been written without you.” Well, yeah. But that could be said about the wife. Or a friend or an agent. Or God even. “Matt Redmond wrote the bulk of this book”? Not on your life

10) We need to push books that are well-written, not names or faces. Good, well-written books are so rare in Christian publishing. You can find them if you look hard enough. But the pragmatic desire to sermonize and monetize everything pushes out the craft. “If the message is good, the crafting of it does not matter” is the route du jour – ghostwritten or not. Or if the money is good, then we assume it is a good book – ghostwritten or not. But these things should not be so. We, Christians, of all people should care about good books and not just celebrities. The very God Whom we worship chose to use a book…a well-written one, by the way.

We’ve been visiting a new church. And I have to admit I’m not enjoying it. Not the church, the visiting. I’m enjoying the church. It’s the visiting I don’t really enjoy. I’m not used to it. We have not done much visiting of a church since I was in Seminary. Since then, each visit has been as a candidate to be a pastor on staff. Which is not like this kind of visiting. Even though we know the pastor and a number of members, it’s been weird.

But they’ve been in the Gospel of Mark.

I have to admit, going to church over the past 6 months or so has been hard. No so much because I don’t want to go. But because I’ve had to go for so long. You have to go when you are in Seminary. And when you are on staff you have to go. Even when the kids are sick, you go. It’s part of your job. It’s not that you don’t want to go. There are just no options, so you go and wanting to go is neither here nor there on one level.

But now, it is no longer part of my job. So we go because we need to go and sometimes because we want to go. The first often makes up for the last. There are some Sunday mornings when my chair is just really comfortable and another cup of coffee sounds like a mini vacation and getting the kids ready sounds horrific and the drive is extensive.

But we know we need it, so we go.

We need to be with God’s people and experience the means of grace and be prayed over. I don’t go solely to learn anymore. And I certainly don’t go to experience or feel God. God knows, I often don’t feel a whole lot. No, we go now because we need Christ. And this corporate gathering is given for that reason. We mess it up sometimes, but it’s God’s idea, this gathering as a church.

Though it feels uncomfortable to go we go and hope for a little comfort.

Back when I was single, the Singles group I was part of had a retreat and Michael Card taught the sessions. I think I fell asleep while sitting on the front row in the first meeting because I stayed up with friends the previous night (that could have happened the year before with Jerry Bridges teaching, can’t remember). So I moved to the back row for the next meeting. In one of these sessions – not the first – Mr. Card said something I have never forgotten. He said, “It is comforting that you can always go to the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) and find Jesus there when in need.”

Or something along those lines.

I don’t remember the context. But I’ve never forgotten what he said. It’s been an an anchor for me over the years and even more so now as I navigate the waters of no longer being in vocational ministry and doing work I am pretty sure I am not crafted for. In the middle of this whirlwind of change, my soul’s great need has easily been reduced down (up?) to a need for Jesus – his words and his deeds.

When I go to the Gospels I can “hear” Jesus say, “Come to me all you who are weary, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I can “see” him loving the rich young ruler even as he rebuked him. I need to be rebuked and I need to know I’m loved.

I need to see him dealing with sinners and saints and legalists and family and followers. I need to hear him eat food and speak loud enough to be heard above the blowing winds.

I know the prevailing wisdom tells me I should feel his presence in my life when I sing worship songs and pray. But that rarely happens. They are helpful in other ways but what really helps me fellowship with Jesus is when I can see his life on earth in front of me on the page. It’s when my life can be tethered to the life and ministry and death and resurrection of Jesus regardless of how it feels.

Look, I’m no “red letter Christian.” Christ is on every page of holy writ. But I am comforted by being able to go to his life in the Gospels and in a way commune with him there.

All this landed on me in a real way as we, the visitors, sat on the 2nd row this past sunday, in front of God and everybody. It’s a little uncomfortable for me, sitting that close when you are a longtime member. Even more so when visiting. The life of Christ in the gospel of Mark pushed out much of the anxiety. He was comfort for the uncomfortable.

1. Thinking about writing a memoir of my time as a banker and titling it, “The Worst Banker in the World.”

2. A steady diet of C.S. Lewis is good for the heart.

3. I renounce Satan and his Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons on Netflix.

4. Still mad at Yoko.

5. This may go down in history as the worst fantasy baseball week ever.

6. The longer I live in the land of grace, the more I see the value of sowing and reaping.

7. I am not sure it’s possible to like anyone who is looking for a house on House Hunters.

8. Remind me to talk to our therapist about the lack of bacon in our home this week.

9. You know what’s funny? Funny stuff.

10. Wife: When are the Summer Olympics.
Me: Summer

Go here for parts One, Two and Three.

We pick up the story with Mom calling at 3 AM to tell me Emma has been getting sick every 15 minutes for a few hours.

Saturday, May 5th, 3:15 AM

I’ve gotten myself ready. I’m awake for the most part and in shock.

And the question that keeps running through my mind with ferocity is, “Why in the middle of the night? why not during the day, after I’ve slept and recovered from this insane day?”

“Why God?”

I tell you the truth, it sounds funny now but it was really horrific at this time of day. You see I hate everyone at 3 AM. When I was a youth pastor – that is after my first gig – I wrote it in my contract I would not do lock-ins. I don’t like hating people. And at 3 AM, I get crazy. Not even God escapes my irrational fury.

Plus, I like to sleep.

Now I have to wake up Knox. This is surprisingly easy. I grab him a change of clothes and we get in the van.

3:30 AM

“Daddy, where are all the cars?”

“In their respective garages, buddy.”

The fog was thick and we were indeed virtually alone until we merged onto the interstate. This is the same interstate we were on earlier. No longer is it a parking lot. We are traveling in a different direction. And Knox is no longer sick. In fact, he is wide-eyed. This is really an adventure for him. He cannot stop smiling and asking questions about the fog and our inability to get away from it.

Finally, he just declares it “creepy.”

3:45 AM

We pull up to my parents. The street is dark – the house darker. But my mom is waiting and she ushers us both upstairs. Emma looks terrible. Just like Knox did about 15 hours earlier.

A suppository always works for Emma so I decide to use one.

I know what you are thinking but you have to understand we have had to admit Emma twice to stave off dehydration. And I’ve already been to the ER once in the past 12 hours. This madness has got to stop.

4 AM

The suppository has been, errr, administered. Knox is on a pallet at the foot of the bed Emma and I are in.

Now, we wait.

5 AM

No change at all. This virus is having it’s way with her just as it did with Knox. Every 15 minutes a nightmare.

5:45 AM

I’m having to come to grips with the fact this looks exactly like what happened with Knox. And the result is going to be the same. I call the ER at Children’s. The doc I get tells me the exact opposite of what I was told by the pediatrician earlier in the day.

Dear Doctors, Can y’all get on the same page, here? OK, thanks!

6 AM

The sun is up. Lights creeps through the blinds. For some reason this brings relief and resolve. It’s around this time, I realize I feel fine. No nausea and no achey joints. Just worry over Emma.

I’m going with my gut. I let my mom know, Emma and I are headed back to the ER.

6:15 AM

So I dress my beautiful little girl, pick her up and carry her down to the van. Bowl in hand.

She also gets sick on the way to the ER. The drive is twice as long as when I took Knox. But she does well. She sleeps most of the time.

I should probably admit that if there had been no free valet parking at the ER I would not have been as ready to go. Feels good to admit that.

6:45 AM

We walk in with a couple of nurses who I assume will be starting their 7 AM shift. No one is waiting in the waiting room. We go back at once and are helped by the doctor who I talked with on the phone. He takes vitals and is nothing but kind to Emma and myself.

7 AM

We are in a private room and in walks a nurse – one of the nurses who helped us yesterday. She wonders what is going and realizes it is a different kid.

“It spread, huh?”

“Yep.”

I explain that she reminded me too much of what I saw in Knox. And she responded by telling me they would take care of it.

Phew.

They may think I’m insane but they did not say it to my face.

7:30 AM

I am now famous throughout the ER for being the Dad to bring in two kids in two days while mom is on vacation. They know she doesn’t know. There is often 3 to 5 people in our room – nurses, doctors – some helping, some just talking and hanging out.

I’m kinda one of them now. I mean, I know where the bathroom is, how the TV works and where the Pharmacy is. I belong.

Thankfully they give Emma some Zofran. It works like magic. I make a note to invest in Zofran and hoard supplies of it.

8 AM

They finally let me know I made a good decision in bringing her in. She was “very dry” according to the awesome young lady Doctor.

She does not do quite as well as Knox with the IV but once it’s in, she goes right to sleep.

9 AM

I’m glad to see Emma already doing better. There is much more color in her face after an hour of fluids. But now I’m wondering how Bethany is.

She sends me a text –

“How are y’all?”

“We are doing good. How are you?”

“Woke up feeling normal!!! really hope that continues. So glad y’all are better.”

“I feel totally normal also. I’ll call you after I get the other two and get home.”

“OK.”

Phew. I don’t like lying to her and leaving out the fact I am in the ER for the second time in 24 hours but she is about to have an epic day at the beach with two of her best friends. She deserves this.

The truth can wait.

10 AM

Green Gatorade!

“Ummm, can we get some red? And maybe some eggs benedict?”

Red Gatorade!

She barely wakes up to drink a little every 5 minutes or so.

11 AM

Doc says she is looking good, so we are free to go. I make all the calls necessary letting the in-laws and my folks know we are leaving the hospital soon. My mom says she will have the boys ready when we get there.

I start calculating – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – OK, all of us have had it now…

Breeeeeeeeeeeathe.

11:30

We pick up the boys, thank my parents for the heroic help, and head home.

Sat. 12 PM – Sun. 6 PM

It was pretty much sleep, sleep, Phineus and Ferb, Spider-man cartoons and more sleep. There was one point not long before bed time where Emma said her tunny hurt a little. So I quickly called my father-in-law who lives around the corner and got him to run down to the Pharmacy and pick up a prescription for Zofran. He made it just as they were closing, like a hero. I was stoked to see this was a drinkable version and she was feeling better within minutes.

Wait, I need to back up.

Sunday 5 PM 

Bethany is about an hour from home. And so I decide to tell her the whole story before she gets home. She didn’t even know Emma had gotten sick. So I started by telling her that because I didn’t want her to worry about her getting sick. She can relax knowing we’ve all had the disease now and lived to tell.

She was thankful but could not believe it.

And to be honest, I lived through the whole thing and I still have trouble believing it.

Finis…thank God.