The Glorious Muddle

glimpses of grace in the messiness of life

November 2, 2022

Early Life of a Newborn Book

The month of October is a blur to me. My third book, Sentenced to Life, was due on October 19 and arrived two weeks early: on October 5. Like any parent of a premature baby, I wasn’t quite prepared. I’ve been playing at catch-up ever since, without catching up exactly (and without much sleep). Maybe in a couple years . . .

Meanwhile, my newborn is already taking his first wobbly steps. Kind of a prodigy, I think, but I guess all new parents are biased.

He’s put in appearances at book launch events, featuring both authors in our respective states: me and Curtis Roberts. A friend put together a homemade book trailer that I used at mine, with a chance for people to see Curtis’s face and hear his heart. Curtis has done radio interviews and I’ve had some newspaper articles come out. Soon, I hope to turn over the reins of promotion entirely to my co-author. “I write. You speak,” I told him. This is my goal.

My mom enjoyed showing this article to everyone at her assisted living community.

To carry this baby analogy further, I do liken publishing to childbirth and my books to children. (I realize this makes some of you want to scream and throw things at me.) But if One Degree of Freedom is now a two-year-old toddler, the two upcoming sequels will be her little sisters. We Wait You is her much older sister. These books have always been girls to me because, well, so am I.

But Sentenced to Life falls into a different category. I think of it as a boy. And a half-brother to my other two books and books-yet-to-be-born. This one is different from the rest, so disconnected that you may even wonder if they’re really family.

My two oldest share Eastern Europe, with one of those being fiction written for teenagers and the other a nonfiction missionary story. And now a prisoner’s story? How can they possibly be related?

First, I will only write about something that grabs my heart. Writing is an endeavor I can’t do half-heartedly. I give it my all, it takes a lot out of me, and I won’t do that with just anything. (I’ve practiced saying this to the dozen or so people who’ve already asked me to write their life story. Nope. Sorry. Not gonna happen.) Eastern Europe is my passion; prisoners are my husband’s–not mine. But I guess after 21+ years of marriage, Steve has rubbed off on me.

But the biggest thread my writings share is that I tell redemptive stories, both true and made up, about oppressed people seeking freedom. A teenage girl during the Cold War whose life is dictated against her wishes. A people living under the thumb of a dictator and a missionary who tries to make a difference in their lives. And now a prisoner serving life for stealing $116, with no hope of being released.

My stories can help transport you to another world, one you may be unlikely to experience for yourself. As this website claims, I tell stories to help you soar.

This latest, Sentenced to Life, is no different. People are already posting reviews, claiming the story was captivating, gripping, amazing, hope-filled, an emotional journey, relatable, poignant, and a powerful redemptive story. I think it’s a story you won’t want to miss.

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September 27, 2022

Coming Soon to the World

Funds are raised. Cover: designed. Editing: complete. Formatting: almost finished. Head: spinning. Three weeks remain until the birth of Sentenced to Life.

After surviving two of the hardest years of my life as a caregiver to both parents, summer’s slower pace was a healing balm to my soul. It’s not that I did nothing; I finished the first draft of one of my sequel novels. But one unfinished project still nagged at me.

The book I’d written for Curtis Roberts during the first year of the pandemic remained unpublished. Every door had closed, all but one. It was one I never wanted to open: self-publishing. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with self-publishing. I just didn’t have the energy or the know-how.

With just a few weeks before the new school year began, I ventured onto one of the craziest yet most exhilarating paths I’ve ever taken, following where it seemed the Lord was leading. I watched in awe as He removed one obstacle after another and provided exactly what we needed.

And now Curtis Roberts’s dream and the fruits of my hard work are becoming reality.

The other day, I was rifling through the boxes of letters and court documents I’d collected to research Curtis’s book. I found a piece of paper I’d written dated January 1, 2020: the day I agreed to write Curtis’s story. Here’s what I wrote:

“The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.” I Thess 5:24, NIV

The calling is NOW (present tense, today). The doing/enabling is future. It’s a promise. He WILL do it. I don’t know how and I don’t need to know. I just need to choose whether to say YES or NO. Curtis said he wants me to write his story because I can tell God’s story in his life. I need to find out what God wants me to do.

Many times in my life I’ve had to seek God to know for certain He was the one calling me and it wasn’t my self-manufactured dream. I knew He was faithful. No question about that. I just needed to know if it was His call. Joining Cru staff; moving to UC Berkeley when I loved New England; saying yes to go anywhere in Eastern Europe–even if that meant Romania; moving back to the U.S. when I loved living in Europe; marrying Steve, publishing We Wait You; pursuing my master’s degree in my fifties.

Each time as I listened, I became certain it was His voice calling to me. Convinced of that, I knew what my answer had to be. I’d learned many years ago to NEVER say no to God.

But each of those milestones in my life when I had to be certain of His call, the thing He asked me to do was beyond me and my abilities. Each time, He called me to do something I knew I could never do. On my own.

But that’s the thing. I’m not on my own. God called me to TRUST Him to bring it to pass. And each time, He did!

Now, today, with a novel about to be released and taking care of my parents, it is absolutely beyond my finite resources. Yet how like God to be even more glorified to do something great—something strong—in spite of my weakness, or perhaps because of my weakness. I can’t claim any natural strengths—only His supernatural empowering.

I thought about how He’s called me (and Steve) to live our lives, to be willing and available for Him to have free reign, to do whatever He sees fit and use us for His glory in whatever opportunity He presents. I think this is one of those opportunities.

What a sense of humor He has—another sign this is of Him—to give me something so big when I’m already stretched so thin I feel like a rubber band about to snap. But I will follow, Lord. I will say yes.

Someday I’ll look back on how He did this crazy thing He called me to. I can’t wait to see.

I’m getting a glimpse now. He did do it. And it is nearly ready for the world.

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August 12, 2022

The Hardest Story to Write

More than two years ago, the guy in this photo asked me to write his memoir. I couldn’t say no. My husband and I had prayed for him for over a decade. Besides, he had an amazing story to tell. This guy, our friend Curtis Roberts, had just been released from San Quentin State Prison. As a matter of fact, this photo was taken on his first day of freedom.

Curtis had spent 29 years behind bars for stealing a total of $116. Of course, I would write his story. I sensed God calling me to do this.

I wrote his book during the months of lockdown, months filled with intense long-distance interviews, poring over court records, reading boxes of letters and journals, and coaxing deeply personal and raw stories from him. The work was grueling and emotional for both of us.

We quickly landed an agent, who had a top publisher interested but couldn’t close the deal. Then another agent. More publishers. Fast forward to today. We have exhausted all traditional publishing options. I am now embarking on self-publishing his book, My Lifetime Behind Bars: Redemption and Freedom for Prisoner E-25212. I truly believe it is still God’s plan for Curtis’ story to get out.

Curtis does not have the means to pay for this and I have already invested 2-1/2 years of my life, pro bono. I started a GoFundMe account this week, hoping that others–maybe you?–would want to contribute to make Curtis’ dreams come true. Even if you can’t donate, please click on this link and share it with others. https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-curtis-publish-his-book

Prisoners have not always been on my heart but they’re the people for whom my husband’s heart breaks. I’m more interested in college students and internationals. I went into San Quentin occasionally to understand my husband’s heart better. I’m ashamed to admit I thought all prisoners probably did something to deserve the punishment they were receiving; instead, I found that wasn’t the case for many of the humble inmates I met.

Curtis has never had an easy road. His life from childhood on is dramatic, painful, yet filled with hope and redemption. He wants his story to get out there into the world, to encourage other people and bring glory to God. Unless it’s published, that can’t happen.

Curtis’ case was so extreme, he became a “poster boy” for the eventual reform of California’s Three Strikes Law. He was interviewed by people like Ted Koppel, Bryant Gumbel, and the PBS News Hour while he was locked away in San Quentin.

His story was shared on an Ear Hustle podcast called “Left Behind,” which gained 750,000 listeners almost overnight. On that podcast, he said:

“I think the perception is that we’re these monsters in here. I am not a monster. I’m a stupid idiot that did drugs and stole money. I’m still human, though.”

Curtis was finally released from prison, but God had set him free on the inside long before that. His journey is one of redemption, faith, and unexpected grace amidst horrific events–rape, solitary confinement, and unending disappointment. Those difficulties are not the end of his story.

As Curtis likes to remind us, “But God …”

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July 30, 2022

Marking Grief by Remembering

Special anniversaries after a death are important times. We mark the significance by remembering.

This week I remembered. One year ago, we put my dad in his memory care home. Six months ago, he left that home for his eternal one.

I had the honor of driving my father on the last car ride he would ever take. This week, I retraced that drive. My father loved the open road. He loved everything about cars and driving. His dream job was being a long-distance truck driver. Now I was driving him.

That last week, we’d ordered pizza and we’d eaten it around my parents’ little table for the last time. We took Dad out for his last breakfast (his favorite meal to eat out). Dad kept trying to get up, saying he had to go and fill up the truck so he could go to work. It was hard to restrain him. It had become increasingly hard to calm him down when he became agitated.

The director of the memory care home came to do an assessment. Dad liked him immediately. But he didn’t understand. He thought he was going there for a job. He thought Mom was going there, too.

The day before he left, his pastor came to read Scripture, pray with him, and promise to visit. That meant a lot to Dad.

As I packed and labelled his clothes, he asked me if I’ll still give him his pills every morning. He liked me to put each pill, one at a time, on the crook of his finger as he swallowed them. I thought, who else will have the patience to do that?

The morning we left, Dad had been ready for hours when we arrived. His face looked worried. He didn’t think he’d do a very good job for the director, but he agreed to trust me. We loaded his lift chair in my husband’s truck. Steve drove the truck with my mom inside. I drove Dad in their car, filled with his stuff.

And then we left. As we drove up the mountain, especially green and lovely that day, Dad kept looking through the window at each new vista and saying, “Wow! That’s so pretty!” I can still picture him, made small with age, eyes and ears that barely worked, looking out and enjoying what he saw.

I kept glancing at the rearview mirror. “Steve and Mom are still behind us,” I’d say. When we pulled into the parking lot of his new home, Dad turned around. “Where’d they go?” He thought Steve and Mom were in the back seat.

We stayed all day, unpacking, eating lunch with Dad, getting him settled. At one point, Mom had drifted off, exhausted. He looked at me and said, “You take care of her. Promise me you will.”

He didn’t understand when we left. And yet he trusted me. It took a while for him to feel at home there. Until one day, he did.

As I read back over my journals and relived some of the stress—a new crisis every couple of days for a couple of years, my spirit felt heavy. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea to come back to this place. I started my day of remembering, appropriately enough, at a breakfast place in a renovated mountain train depot. (Dad would have loved it.) I kept moving my location—to waterfalls, creeks, park benches.

The more I read, the more the heaviness lifted. I became certain. We did the right thing for Dad. We did the right thing to take care of Mom. We did the only thing we could do.

Was that what today was about? Did I need to find vindication? To know my dad forgives me? Did he think I chose Mom over him?

The home we selected was the perfect place was for my father. He was loved. He was cared for. He didn’t understand at the time, but now I know he understands. And he would say there’s nothing to forgive.

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June 27, 2022

Why Care about Another Disease?

It seems that every month we’re asked to don ribbons in colors of pink, red, green, blue, or yellow to bring awareness to a different and deadly disease. This past month, the color has been purple and the disease has been Alzheimer’s**.

How can you possibly care about one more disease? It’s only natural to choose the disease that has affected you or someone you love personally. Dementia is very personal to me.

I realize you may not feel the same way about it. However, according to all I’ve learned this month, there is a good chance dementia will become personal to you.

Here’s why you should care enough to join the fight to end Alzheimer’s and other dementias:

By 2050, experts predict that 50% of all Baby Boomers (13-14 million people) will have Alzheimer’s. The youngest of the Baby Boomers will be 85 at that time.
2 out of 3 people who suffer with this disease are women.
Out of the 10 most common causes of death globally, Alzheimer’s is the Only One without a cure.
There is a 0% survival rate. No known survivors.
Alzheimer’s is the 6th leading cause of death in America, more than breast cancer and prostate cancer combined.
Alzheimer’s receives only 6% of the funding that cancer receives.
Every 66 seconds, someone new develops Alzheimer’s.
Since the year 2000, deaths from heart disease have decreased 7.3%, while deaths from Alzheimer’s have increased 145%.

Alzheimer’s doesn’t begin when someone starts to have memory problems. It begins decades earlier.

People often think of memory loss as the main symptom of dementia. That’s only the one that appears above the surface, the one most of us see. The graphic below shows other symptoms that are often unseen by all but those closest. These symptoms are frightening for the person suffering from dementia and frightening for the one caring for him or her. My father had every symptom listed, with the exception of seizures.

Dementia is a hideous, dehumanizing disease. If you know someone who suffers from it or has suffered, you understand. If you don’t yet, you will. And there’s a good chance that person will be you.

I’m fighting for a cure in memory of my father, Wesley, who succumbed to vascular dementia in January.

I’m fighting in honor of my mother, Patti, who is currently battling hard against Mild Cognitive Impairment, which often leads to Alzheimer’s. Every night, she lies in bed and recites “KurtTarynKurtTarynKurtTaryn” so she won’t forget the names of her two children.

I’m fighting for a cure in hopes I will not become one more statistic.

Please join the fight, in any way you can.

Bring awareness to the need for a cure.

Give money for a cure.

Pray for a cure.

Love someone who has dementia.

“Dementia doesn’t rob someone of their dignity. It’s our reaction to them that does.”

Teepa Snow, host of the Dementia Care Partner podcast

(** Alzheimer’s is just one of many dementias. Roughly 70% of people with dementia have Alzheimer’s. When you read the statistics above about Alzheimer’s, realize the numbers are magnified 30% when you think ALL dementias: vascular, Lewy body, fronto-temporal, mixed dementia, etc.)

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Taryn R Hutchison

Telling stories to help you soar

Early Life of a Newborn Book

Coming Soon to the World

The Hardest Story to Write

Marking Grief by Remembering

Why Care about Another Disease?