I am a writer.
This weekend reminded me of that.
With my agent, Sandra, and several of her clients (and my friends), Ane Mulligan, Carolyn Zane and Carla Stewart.
I've already told you about the loss of my contract, a loss that I mourned like the death of a dream...and while it stole some of my joy, it didn't take long for me to begin to see that perhaps God was at work. Maybe there was a way for Him to turn it all around.
Because he does that, you know.
Still, heading off to ACFW this weekend, I was a mix of emotions. I felt a little like an orphan, like I was starting all over at the beginning...and yet, God had given me, through a long process of internal therapy, the ability to hold my hands up and say Not my will, but yours be done.
(And actually mean it.)
There were moments of confusion, and mostly I was concerned about my incredible lack of excitement over the whole writing process. It occurred to me that maybe I was done. Maybe I'd written three books and that was enough.
Move on to the next.
But even as the thought entered my mind, I knew it wasn't one I wanted to entertain.
I agonized over pitch meetings and large gatherings of strangers in which I had to pretend I'm not an introvert... and I made myself far more nervous than I needed to be...
Because I do that, you know.
I'd find pockets of quiet time in which I'd pray and hand my career over to the One who made me, asking for direction and telling Him Whatever you want, that's what I want. I know your plans for me are better than my own.
And I meant it.
See, I think when you lose something or suffer disappointment or set-backs, it's easy to convince yourself you've been heading down the wrong path...time to go a different way...
And sometimes, it is.
But sometimes, it's just a distraction. And in those moments, I often wonder if God is asking me "Who are you going to cling to?" In the past, my answer (if I'm honest) would've been: myself.
I'd push and wrestle and force and try to find any way to make what I knew was supposed to happen, happen.
But not anymore.
Now, I cling to Him, the One who knows the beginning and the end, the One who has already worked it out for my good, and I rest in the fact that even in the midst of my disappointments or confusion, He is at work.
And the very best part is that being there, in that little fiction bubble, my joy returned. My excitment for the stories He's given me bubbled up like Pop Rocks waiting to explode.
See, I'm a writer. I tell stories. That's who I am, whether I have a contract or not.
Me with my publicist, Jeane Wynn and Deb just before I left on Monday morning...
What I know for sure: It doesn't always look like you think it should or you expect it to, but your journey is unique to you. It's being written for you...so comparing it to someone else's journey doesn't make any sense. The best thing you can do is hold your hands up and trust that He is still at work, moving things around on your behalf...because He loves you.
And because your story isn't finished yet.