Friday, 23 March 2012
Pressed, but not crushed
It’s only Wednesday, and it’s already been a long week.
My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. on Monday, and the first thought that floated up from the sleep-fog was we have no coffee. #*%&^$.
An early-morning coffee run, feeling optimistic, like I could still get some writing in before the house woke up, and then right as I walked past his room, coffee in hand, the baby woke up.
Tuesday, the same thing, except earlier, and I didn’t have to go out to get coffee. The baby woke up right when my mug was filled to the brim and the creative animal was ready to speak. @($$*$&#^@&*%^.
This morning, I didn’t even set an alarm. (and of course, the baby slept all night and into the morning.)
I registered for a writing conference on Sunday. No big deal, right? Except it’s one thing to wake up early to write and lose a little sleep. It’s another to pay actual money and make actual travel plans and polish up book proposals to submit to actual agents and editors.
I’m still fighting the feelings of inadequacy, of feeling foolish, of thinking it’s a waste of time and money and why would I chase after something that’s never going to happen?
Then the baby is teething, and while I don’t think Satan has any control over my child’s development, I do think that as the father of lies, he will use any and every circumstance in my life to discourage me in this moment. I’m feeling a little vulnerable. I’m risking something bigger than loss of sleep. I’m showing up for this party, trembling a little in my scuffed-up boots.
I submitted an essay on fear for the upcoming Not Afraid volume currently being judged/edited by Alise Wright. In it, I recall the most terrifying moment of my life, and how I eventually called fear’s bluff. Fear is a shadow playing on a wall. It’s just because we’re cowering from the dark that it looks so huge, like it could eat us alive.But when you stand up and shine a light, the shadow disappears and fear is a pitiful, whiny thing that looks utterly ridiculous. I am a daughter of the King and I’m covered in His love. What do I have to fear?
Tomorrow, I will set my alarm.
A new friend recently tweeted, “Courage does not always roar, sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day saying “I will try again tomorrow.”