You're Invited into The Fold

an essay + the reader community for my new book

(If you’ve been wondering if we’d have a launch team etc for my new book, make sure you read all the way to the end of this essay for your invite to The Fold!)

Dear Friend,

Once upon a time, I felt lonely. I didn’t just feel a twinge of loneliness, like those awkward moments when you say something you shouldn’t at a dinner and realize everyone’s misread your heart and wonders if you are secretly a jerk. No. I felt loneliness like afternoon thunderstorms in the summer, rippling through every single day. 

For years I had been walking into the world of writing, but now I was finally exploring the wilderness, pitching a tent streamside by publishing articles and gathering wood to make a warm place for others by sharing on Instagram to the 700 or so people who seemed a tiny bit interested in what I had to say. 

And then these storms would roll through: an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, a really mean comment, or feeling almost entirely invisible while others were totally, clearly seen. 

Yesterday was Good Shepherd Sunday in the liturgical calendar, when we not only remember Christ as our Good Shepherd but as the Voice calling each of us by name into unique vocations as witnesses of the wonder of Love in a world drenched with shame. 

Frederick Buechner said that your vocation is “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” (And, I hope you don’t pretend—for even a second—like that gladness doesn’t exist in you, even if it is buried under a pile of pain.)

I think that when we dare to be glad, we often get drenched. When we dare to reveal the glory within us to the world, storms roll through—sometimes sparking like lightning in the splitting words of others who fear this land might not be large enough for two explorers. Sometimes, when we stand at the crossroads of our vulnerability and goodness to honor this world’s pain and hope, others will say we aren’t good enough to stand there at all. 

When we show up as ourselves in this world, storms will attempt to send us into hiding. And your vocation—your expression of gladness—depends on your willingness to continue to be vulnerable and generous in a world that keeps telling you strength is the shelter where success lives and you better lock your doors. 

So, my Deep Gladness stirred me to wander into the proverbial wilderness as a writer. And it was as I was getting lonely, learning to live on the land, that another writer came up to me on the trail. And, for a while, I thought we were setting up camp together. We pitched our tents. She borrowed stakes from me to secure her tent to the ground. And I asked for some of her kindling to get a fire going. Sure, sometimes she said weird stuff about my gear or the stories I told around the fire at night, but I needed company. And, for a little bit, I felt less alone.

But eventually, she claimed the whole campsite was hers and labeled me as bad for being there. 

(Yes, this is a somewhat ridiculous metaphor, and, yes, this “friendship” did happen. And, no, I won’t give you the details.)

I did end up setting up camp elsewhere, but it’s taken me years to peel the label of “bad” off my soul. 

…

Switching metaphors, I think so many of us feel like we don’t belong in God’s flock because other sheep have shoved us around. We’ve been in spiritual communities where belonging is coupled to control and utility. 

We belong as much as we are useful to those in power, and when we do not fit their preferred way of being, we are pushed out. We’re not compliant enough, straight enough, or strong enough. We’re too emotional, too sensitive, or too questioning. When a shepherding figure or even another “sheep” has labeled you as bad, it can be incredibly hard to see God as your Good Shepherd.

And then there’s Jesus, raising his hand of peace, still seeking you out where others have pushed you out.

The Good Shepherd, by Kelly Latimore Icons

In many icons of Christ, as in the one above, Christ’s right hand is painted into a sign of blessing, a gesture that spells the first and last letters of Jesus Christ in Greek (IC XC). In a world of scarcity, this Shepherd gives us a sign of peace. In a world of cursing, competition, and control, this Shepherd invites us to become living gestures of compassion. 

Psalm 23 can read like a nursery rhyme when no one has named the reality of its context. (Something I explore in-depth in The Lord Is My Courage.) The man who wrote it was pushed into exile and hunted down by someone who was afraid of losing his power and place. These aren’t words to put on a wall in a pretty frame. They are words to carry in your heart when you are hounded by fear, labeled as bad, and wondering if you will ever fully be safe and belong. 

Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd puts the sheep before himself, sacrifices himself if necessary.” (John 10:11, MSG) 

The Greek word for good here is kalos, and it means beautiful. This is the beautiful shepherd, the one whose inside matches his outside, who doesn’t feign friendship only to later claim he doesn’t know us, but who gives up his life to make sure we are well. 

The Beautiful Shepherd never bullies us into belonging or uses up our goodness to make his own name greater. 

The Beautiful Shepherd is the one whose Voice is still calling you good, who will never let the deep well of gladness at the center of your soul run dry.

Two weeks ago, I was on a beach in Mexico, at a retreat with a group of other writers. And, one after another in private conversations, the women I was with told me that I make them feel safe, that my presence is good. They didn’t know they were reversing a curse that had been placed on my head. They didn’t know that while I have come to believe God calls me good, I still struggle to trust others won’t curse me. And I received their words. I let them fall like anointing oil on my head, dripping down to my heart and the hands that are typing these words. 

We become the gestures of compassion. Your vocation isn’t just where your deep gladness meets this world’s hunger. It’s where your deep gladness and your deepest wounds become wellsprings of compassion for how very wounded and wondrous we all are. 

I don’t know how much you feel like you belong with God and other Christians these days, but I want you to experience the Beautiful Shepherd blessing you as good, calling your name, and welcoming you into his spacious fold. 

---

One little way we’re going to enact and extend that goodness is in a reader community for the release of The Lord Is My Courage, called “The Fold.”

The truth is, I wrote this book to broaden our belonging. Instead of having a group for my book release that’s all “rah-rah, let’s talk about how awesome this book/KJ is!” 🤮 I want the little, short-term community of The Fold to be a place where the content of my new book gives us space to gather to be renamed as good, to see our stories as sacred, and to extend the belonging to the parts of ourselves that still ache.

• All you have to do to join is preorder the book and then fill out this form, and I’m not going to be hardcore pressuring you about reviewing the book, etc—though a review would be marvelous.

• You’ll receive details about the Facebook group etc. once you’ve filled out the form.

I’m under no illusion that The Fold is going to change the world, but I do hope it’s a safe place to explore your story and look up to see that there might still be a Good Shepherd seeking you. So:

• Want to read my new book early? Join.

• Want to explore the content but aren’t sure you want to get vulnerable with a bunch of strangers? Totally okay. Join. We won’t force you to share anything.

• Not so sure about this weird idea, but still want to read my new book? Respect. You can just preorder the book here, and she’ll show up on your doorstep on June 21st (release day).

I’m inviting you. You are more than welcome in this Fold, and I can’t wait to explore the landscape of courage there with you.

—KJ

PS I’ll be emailing you again soon about some very fun little presents you get when you preorder The Lord Is My Courage. So keep the receipt/confirmation #s from your preorder!