Every afternoon for the past month or so, I've approached the mailbox with tiny twinges of dread clawing at my stomach. I'd peer into the cold, black box and hope (and often pray) that no envelope bearing my own name, in my own handwriting, lay there ready to mock me. Every aspiring writer knows that the self-addressed stamped envelope is a sure sign of rejection.
Until last Thursday I managed to avoid such a fate. On this afternoon I once again went through my little ritual, and this time the feared envelope sat beneath a bank statement, whispering taunts up at me in my own familiar handwriting.
My baby...rejected. Ouch.
I knew it would hurt. My manuscript is a piece of myself...and someone didn't want that piece. Failure...hurt...rejection. None of these things are fun.
Still, I hear God's voice speaking softly to my heart, reminding me of that day at the post office when I gave my manuscript over to Him.
Good or bad. Approved or rejected.
I truly do believe that God's plans for His children are so much better than those we determine to make for ourselves, and so I will continue to trust Him and strive to listen to His voice.
I will not give up.
As I begin planning my second book, I feel a peace at taking things slow and at checking my priorities often--making sure my family, and my Savior, come before my writing.
I often recite Hebrews 12:1 to myself.
...let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith...
I will continue to persevere. Most of all in my faith, but also in every other good work my heart pulls me toward.
And that includes writing.