To be a writer, you need skin thick enough to withstand the rejection of publishers, agents, potential clients – none of whom know you, but all of whom are making assumptions about you.
Comparing you to the best-selling authors they are truly seeking. Extrapolating – based on the length of your resumé – that you might be a tad long in the tooth – one might say – and perhaps aren’t current in terms of topical trends and social media.
But you also – simultaneously – need skin thin enough to feel life as it flows through you so you’ll have something to write about. To be sensitive and sentient. To be a risk-taker. An open-hearted soul-explorer.
The same paradox holds true for those of us who profess faith.
Sometimes I think my own ideology is somewhat – let’s say – idealized. I want to believe in the goodness of humanity. I want to believe that it will all make sense one day. But I believe that faith is a muscle, and it must be stretched – and that’s just what happens when we experience loss, feel doubt or go through hardships.
It seems sometimes that the hardest part isn’t the pain, but the struggle to stay human.
Spoiler alert: God’s still in charge.
I believe with all my hopeful heart that it will work out for you in the end.
People may try to pigeon-hole you, stereo-type you, or call you a “work-in-progress.”
They may passive-aggressively say they’ll “keep you in their prayers.”
But you know who you are. And you know whose you are. You won’t be constrained by hyphens. You can’t be contained by pain. You are God’s own. You’re not alone.
You write the story as you go – published by Providence and ghost-written by Grace.
Here’s to a hope-filled happy ending!