A few months ago it was just a tweet made by a friend that she was wanted a group of us to submit a post to a book compilation that would be sold with our words stretched over the pages with the proceeds going to charity and I scoffed at her idea, thinking there was no way that I would be submitting my work because I am a blogger, not a writer, because my posts aren’t educated or thought out, they are journal entries that are the result of my fingers tapping without thought across the keyboard, often faster than I realize I am thinking.
When I was specifically asked by a friend who was contributing if I had submitted I said I wasn’t, because my work was not worthy of being put in a book. She nagged encouraged me to just consider it and even offered to help me select something if I needed help. I still said no.
As the deadline was already past I was reading back on some of my old writing while looking for something and stumbled on a couple of posts that I was surprised came from my fingers and didn’t belong to someone else’s. They weren’t great, but maybe they were good enough.
Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.
So I reached out and sent my link and asked with the utmost apprehension if this was “good enough.” I almost immediately received a more than encouraging reply stating that it was great (it isn’t) and that she was so glad I had decided to submit something because I had been a part of the community for so long.
Every bit of anxiety I could muster up has flooded me, wondering what any of this means, mostly the negative things, though really, how can charity be negative? That’s an anxiety disorder for you right there. Fear has overtaken me on more than on occasion and silenced me, but not this time.
I hear that the book is coming along well and while I don’t know any specifics as to when it will be released or how many contributors there will be, I do know that it will be available in paperback and that means I will have a book, sitting on my shelf, with my own work in it. Not a chapter or anything more than a page, but still my words. My heart, my soul, my pains and sorrows, my love, tears, community. My faith.
That is a crazy thing to think about when everyone I know is writing a book and I have been asked to many times about the trials I have overcome, the pain I have endured and how I came to Christ. Maybe this is going to be my one and only moment published in a book, or maybe it will be a catalyst for my words to go to paper. I am a writer, I do it every day. But am I an author?
What I do know is I need to stop the inside chit chat that goes on from bringing me down and placing words in peoples mouths before they have even opened. I need to stop sowing seeds of myself stating that “I suck” and am “not worthy” because God didn’t create anyone to suck and He paved the way so that we could all be worthy if we chose to obey Him.
Sometimes we need to lean back on our six pillows (yes I have six) and let our souls exhale, whether it’s a physical release or a spiritual one that ends up being ink and paper, or a drawing, a prayer sent up. A moment of thanksgiving, or a realization that I am forgetting all about thanks-living. I need to hand it all to Him.
Amazing Grace is a gift that I don’t want to neglect or ignore or waste.
Today as my soul exhales in wondering what the future holds, it inhales the new life that is springing up all around and I am able to feel content, safe, fearless. The smile on my face not needing to be faked, no façade to break.
As I struggled to pull the deeply rooted weeds from what’s supposed to be a flower bed I was reminded that I must sow seeds of strength in the One place that they will grow roots strong and firm like those of the roots I couldn’t tear from the ground. The pot may be cracked but the earth is rich and full and the seeds I sow how more than enough room to spread and grow.