Three years ago I was fully “hustling” as an entrepreneur. I was making income. I was halfway to saving enough for a down payment on a house. I was hitting all my goals.
I was also so burnt out I could barely see straight.
Admittedly, there were more things than just running a business happening in my life that were contributing to the burnout. That season of my life involves stories that don’t belong to just me and I’ve opted to keep them off the internet. All you need to know is I was severely depressed, mentally fatigued and emotionally/spiritually threadbare.
I remember spending many nights crying to my husband and feeling like a complete wash up. I knew I could write and take pictures. I knew I was good at communicating with my storytelling but, no matter how much I so desperately tried to make it happen, I could not figure out a way to help support our single income family with my writing. Every option I tried was either wildly outside of my value system or so time consuming and rigorous that I felt like I was being gobbled alive by the productivity monster when I attempted to make it work.
And so I quit.
With no other options or fresh paths to try, I gave up the dear-to-my-heart idea I’d had to help support my family with my writing. It felt as though God had given me a glimpse of a dream and then let the door to making it happen slam on my hands.
Thank you for being a subscriber to The Redemptive. I try to not clutter up inboxes and that’s why I only post twice a week from here. Once on Mondays for paid subscribers and once on Thursdays for all subscribers.
Today, I’m removing the paywall on this Monday’s post to show you what my paid subscribers get from me weekly. Below, I talk about the impact of using our resources to build intentional spaces worth inhabiting on the internet.
If finances are tight for you, please know that I in no way want you to feel pressured to pay for my words, that’s not the point of this post. The point is to take a moment to show gratitude for how God has used Substack in my life and for all of us to consider how we spend our resources (time, energy, money) and what the impact of that might be over time.
The excruciating timing of God.
One of the most famous stories from the Bible is the parting of the Red Sea. Caught between an uncrossable body of water and power of the Egyptian army led by a wrathful Pharaoh, the people of God begin to panic. What they most feared is raging towards them and God has led them to the place where they cannot escape it.
“Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea. The Lord drove the sea back with a powerful east wind all that night and turned the sea into dry land. So the waters were divided, and the Israelites went through the sea on dry ground, with the waters like a wall to them on their right and their left.” - Exodus 14: 21-22
It’s highly unlikely you would be unfamiliar with this story. It’s strange, dramatic and beautiful in a way that captures our hearts. But there’s one detail the retellings and (imperfect) screen adaptations seem to miss: “The Lord drove the sea back with a powerful east wind all that night”.
Contrary to the way we may have thought this particular story unfolds, God’s deliverance of His people was not instantaneous. We so often ache for God to move immediately within our timelines, but God’s timing is not our timing. In this Exodus story, the sun sank into the horizon while the Israelites had to sit, terrified and seemingly trapped, to watch God move in ways beyond their understanding.
These past three years have felt like a long, dark night for me. Many of our dreams and plans have had to be quietly buried in unmarked graves with no one to mourn them but me and my husband. There have been days unnumbered where I’ve felt trapped—knowing that God could move on my behalf for His glory but, deep down, feeling like He really wouldn’t.
I don’t think it’s too bold to assume that maybe some of the Israelites felt the same way. Sure, Moses said God would deliver them but there they were all that night, trying to comfort their children and spouses while the wind roared over the face of the sea and hour after hour ticked by in the dark.
But, all that night, He never left them alone.
“Then the angel of God, who was going in front of the Israelite forces, moved and went behind them. The pillar of cloud moved from in front of them and stood behind them. It came between the Egyptian and Israelite forces. There was cloud and darkness, it lit up the night, and neither group came near the other all night long.” - Exodus 14:19-20
Now, I’m not delusional enough to believe the personal events I’ve experienced are as important as God’s deliverance of His people by parting the Red Sea. That story isn’t meant to tell me about myself, it’s meant to help me understand the character of God; how He made a way by moving in ways no one could comprehend. And while doing that all through the dark of that night, He came close to His people and shielded them with His presence.
The hard things I’ve gone through the past three years have not been completely removed. I’m still waiting in a metaphorical night for deliverance for many big things. And, at the same time, I’m watching Him restore what was buried when I had to shut down my business three years ago.
An awful place, a beautiful tool. Your choice.
We can see the value of the internet as an avenue of connection and, at the same time, be deeply weary of how loud and divided everything has become on it. The digital noise alone is enough to make me want to buy a cabin in the woods and never emerge. I can speak from personal experience to how it’s damaging our nervous systems to constantly be yelled at or witness other people being yelled at.
This is nothing new. It’s been this way for years. But what is new are places like Substack where you can personally cultivate the kind of spaces you want to see and show up in. What you’ve done by being a paid subscriber to this publication not only directly gives me the margin and stamina to keep doing this work, but gives you access to the benefits of contributing to the kind of written work you want to consume.
Lore Wilbert recently dove headlong into the subject of writers getting paid for their work. I encourage everyone to go read the whole post (and the comments!) but this quote in particular jumped out at me:
“Getting paid a few dollars a month from my readers on Substack helps me hustle a lot less. Significantly less. Markedly less. I cannot communicate to you how much less hustle I’ve had to do since beginning paid subscriptions. This means my writing is (hopefully) better, more contemplative, more meditative, less hungry for clicks and shares. The difference in my spirit cannot be overestimated.”
I can’t say it any better than Lore does, but this is exactly what I’ve been feeling ever since I was able to bring in (admittedly small) income through my writing here on Substack, “a difference in my spirit.” Since moving all of my long-from work to Substack, my work has become more thoughtful and intentional. And as Lore put it, “that’s good for all of us”.
Holding the tension of speaking truth with gentleness is hard work. Making space to cultivate peaceful spaces online is hard work. Being willing to tackle important, relevant issues with soft tenacity is hard work. And I can’t do it alone. Thanks to you, I don’t have to. You have consistently come alongside me and said, “I believe in this. I value this. I want to help you make this possible.”
I get to write and I get to be paid for it. This is my job. I’m bringing in income to support my family (what I made on The Redemptive last month more than paid for my kid’s school curriculum this year). And I’m able to do it in a way that’s sustainable for me while being the primary caregiver of two children and living with a debilitating chronic illness. I cannot overstate the positive impact this has had on our family.
By being a paid subscriber, you get to invest your resources into building online spaces that give more than they take. This note from one of my paid subscribers, Lily, summed everything up for me:
"I realized your free posts in my inbox consistently left me feeling about like I do after encountering Tolkien…like we all face the hard and dark in life but we are not alone in it…and there is hope. It’s difficult to describe exactly but your writing is a long, calming deep breath. I almost always feel more at peace and also more ready to face the battles of the day before me. Keep going!"
I never want anyone to feel pressured to pay for what I write, you can spend your money however you feel the freedom to do so. And if you’re at a place where finances are too tight to be a paid subscriber to my publication please reach out, I’m able to help you work around that in most cases.
But I do want to communicate, from someone who has experienced it this past year, using what we can where we can to restore the world in little ways changes everything. We go from being apathetic consumers of mindless content (and reckless output-ters churning out mindless content) to joining Jesus in the redemptive work of using what we’ve been given to cultivate intentionality and beauty.
This is the work I always pray to keep doing.
Three years ago, I was burnt out and sitting in front of (what felt like) a slammed door. Like the Israelites, I’ve sat through a long night questioning the timing of God’s deliverance. But over and over, I’ve been brought close to His presence, to glimpses of grace weaving like a gold thread into the seams of my rent-open days.
And even now, in the still-dark of prayers unanswered I hear it: the roar of wind over the water, the turning of waves into dry land.
You write beautifully Breanne and this piece is touching, intimate and affirming with some magical phrasing - it is a pleasure to subscribe to your work. Nobody I know has not spent more time than they ever imagined they would have to in the dark night of the soul and in the words of Paul Simon from An American Tune „I don‘t know a dream that‘s not been shattered or driven to its knees“, mine included. So when you write, gently as you do, of that passage and pain and put your hand up to share your story, you touch a thousand souls who instantly feel both understood and more importantly perhaps not quite so alone in their own darkness. That is a gift and one for which this reader is grateful.
So I’m new here but I just wanted to say that your words are beautiful. They’re stark and honest and beautiful and I’m so grateful you have a place to hone your craft and get paid. Thanks for sharing 💛