“You are ridiculously difficult to market,” sighs my patient friend, Amy, with a marketer’s exasperation. “People want to know what your shtick is, what your niche is. They’ll spend six seconds on your website, and they want to leave knowing your ‘thing’.” She’s right, and we both know it. I’m so thankful for her honest help. So “mentor.speaker.writer” comes closest we agree, but even that truthful trifecta has its limits.
As we’ve been swimming in this world of updating websites, I’ve longed for one clear-cut handle by which the world--or at least the few interested people--could reach out and grab me. But as that solitary handle has repeatedly slipped my reach, I’ve begun to wonder: could my longing and frustration point, at least in part, to a deeper problem? You see, I think I’ve drunk the cultural Kool-aid with its poisonous presupposition that life is mechanistic at heart. Somehow, I’ve come to believe that our existence is simply one of parsing the plethora of products that need producing, picking one, and then finding the gear one gets to be, nailing down a niche-like slot in the org chart of existence.
Ugh. I apologize, God. Truly.
So, I’m pouring out that Kool-aid and putting the empty pitcher at His feet, receptively requesting, Flood me, please, with living understanding.
Trickling in come images of eyes making contact, hearts at rest, conversations meandering back and forth. Holy Words about being present to the Presence, being persons made for deep communion with a living, triune God and with one another start to fill my pitcher.
Yes, but, um, is that all You got, God? That might be true but it doesn’t sell too well.
But, what if what sells well is not necessarily what’s core? And what if at core we really are, through Jesus, beloved children of our eternal, heavenly Father? And what if holding on to that reality is actually a work so basic that we can overlook it in a nano-second or six? I’m wondering if the best cover page for this website should in truth read something like: “beloved.daughter.loving.” It wouldn’t be a unique market niche (millions of others could claim it); it wouldn’t be a thing; and it’s not actually much help to anyone who wants to know what I do professionally or hire me as a speaker. But it might be an act of defiance against all forces (real or imagined) that would want to reduce me, or you, to something less. It might not say it all, but “beloved.(daughters and sons).loving” is the core-level hope that I—a woman sitting at His feet—long to see spill out from me, in one hundred ways and places.