I had to take a break from research I was doing on the writers' conference I'm attending next weekend, lest I cry or go nuts. Reading eternal lists of editors' accomplishments and what publishing companies don't want is not my idea of fun. So, I went outside to my garden, the cheapest and easiest form of therapy I've discovered. Something about pulling weeds and throwing away old tomato plants that I enjoy. The forceful tugging, then the final yank that releases the weed from the soil, relaxes me. I talk to Jesus, reminding Him that this idea of publishing a book was His, not mine. I am content to keep writing columns as I have been doing for the past seven years, for the two newspapers in Edgar County. People here like my writing, they tell me so all the time. He listens, good shepherd that He is. But, He doesn't let me off the hook. I still have to go to the conference, and expose myself to unknown criticism from acquisitions editors and publishers. I am overwhelmed. I am nervous. But out here, with the sun hugging my neck and my Savior telling me "Do not let your heart be troubled," I am okay. I can do this difficult thing. He is with me. He will never lead me where He doesn't have grace to favor me. I've never done a great job of managing my own life, so I decide to trust Him.
4 years ago