I give my scared to Jesus.

In His Hands



It was a dark and stormy night.
No, really. With all respect to both Madeline L'Engle and Snoopy, it was truly windy and ominous that night and my five-year-old didn't welcome his bedtime. He was afraid the stormy sounds would be too scary to allow him to sleep.
I remembered something our pastor once said. First he reminded us about how big God is. Creator of all. Everything in His hands. Everything,including time. He created time and holds it in His hands. So that thing that's bothering you? The problem that's hanging over your head? You can put it in His hands. "Put it there in His hand," he told us, "set it right next to time."
I reminded my son that we, his family, were there. His brother was there in the room and Daddy and I just across the hall. Jesus right there with him. I told my little boy to imagine his "scared" like a stone in his hand. He could take that stone and put it right into God's hand. The same with his mad and his jealous and his embarrassed. Put it like a stone into His hand and He'll hold it for you.
Later that night my husband overheard him telling his brother,"I give my scared to Jesus."
What freedom.
You know what I love most about that? Jesus wants those things. He isn't put off by our weaknesses. He died for our sin and conquered our shortcomings with His resurrection and He wants us to give them to Him. And once surrendered they are entirely manageable in His hand.
My anxiety: spiky, corrosive, and clinging becomes a tiny pebble, cool and innocuous in His hand. My discouragement? My confusion? All of it completely manageable and un-intimidating when He is in control of it.

It's not about me. What a relief to say so. One of the many, many benefits of being His child is that my burdens are not mine to carry. He promised we would have trouble and He promised He was master of it. 

John 16:33  “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

 I can give my scared to Jesus. You can give your worry, your hurt your resentment to Him. When you do feel His peace wash over you as see your trouble grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.

Roadblocks

I'm going to be totally real with you right now: I'm feeling like a failure this morning. A friend told me last night that someone went to Amazon to get a copy of my novel and there aren't any there. My book has been backlisted. I knew that already, but it was no fun to see the word "unavailable" there next to the picture of my book. This is not unusual. It happens to lots of authors. I still have copies of my novel and it hasn't just disappeared from the world, but it still stings. I'm working hard not to take it personally.
I'm warring with myself this morning. This is one of those times when I want to sit in the road and quit. The roadblock is steep and rocky. I can't see the other side. My metaphorical feet hurt and I'm tempted to give up.
But I won't.
I see lots of work ahead. A bunch of places to go, all of them outside of my cozy little comfort zone. So here I go. I'm pretty sure that if I had to do it on my own I wouldn't be able to. I'm not going to claim that I can just grit my teeth and pick myself up and keep trying. Not without Him anyway.
But Jesus has already acknowledged my bruises and promised to help me up out of the dust.
Just a few minutes ago Beth Moore sent out these two tweets:

Beth MooreVerified account‏@BethMooreLPM

This is how this earthly thing tends to go: we don't turn out to be as awesome as we hoped & Jesus turns out to be better than we believed.

Beth MooreVerified account‏@BethMooreLPM

@BethMooreLPM Personal crisis: looking our un-awesomeness in the eye. If we can deal, we're set for some wild and woolly Jesus-awesomeness.

So I'm trying be excited about what's coming because I know He has a plan. It's going to take work. It's going to take work just to choose not to sit in the road and cry for one minute longer than I should. 

I would  not have chosen this roadblock if I were mapping my path. But I'm not that kind of Author. I know He knows best and with His help I'll put my shoes back on my tired feet and start climbing.

rified accou

Self Portrait

Amie the Writer

I've really hoped to post here every day. I might not, though, because I really need to finish my manuscript. But anyway I started this blog almost a month ago and so far I've posted every day since. Usually I've had a devotional-type thought. I probably won't do that all the time though.
Today I'd like to share a little about what it's like to be a writer. For me, anyway.
You probably know that we writers people-watch. We live in fear that someone will see our search history and think we're sociopaths because we Google weird stuff. You've surely noticed we're strange.
We're also really apprehensive about letting you read our work.
A writer friend asked me one evening, "Don't you feel a little like Voldemort? With pieces of your soul just floating around out there?"
Yes. That's just what if feels like.
Writing is vulnerable. In these posts I have allowed you glimpses into my mind. If you've read and paid attention you're aware of some of my weaknesses and heartaches. You know what I believe and what I don't. An enemy could use these things as weapons if they wanted to. I do not take that lightly. The alternative is to keep silent, but I've promised God not to hide the gift He's given me under a bushel (I'm not saying I've been blessed with something like Dickensian genius, but a gift is a gift and I don't want to squander it.)
It's humbling to share my words with you. You may not agree. You might find mistakes. You are completely free to judge me any way you choose and whether your conclusions are accurate or not, there's nothing I can do about it.
Sometimes I'm really scattered. My ideas don't always align in a pretty outline in my mind so that I can happily just fill in the blanks as I go. In fact I don't think that's ever happened. I have ideas I like, or thoughts I want to communicate, and I try to find a way to intelligibly weave them together. It's not always elegant and sometimes I tie myself up because I think of something else to add, but I've composed my thoughts into tight transitions and there's nowhere for the new idea to go.
It feels messy. I'm a child with scissors and paste, clumsily patting words into a satisfactory arrangement. At my touch, the phrases slide around in the gluey mess and it doesn't look the way I imagined it would. My hands come away sticky and paper flecked, the project jagged-edged and jumbled. I think about it later in the day, finding bits of colored paper still plastered to my fingers and I wonder about the completed work. I wonder if it's the kind you'll stick to your refrigerator with your favorite heart-shaped magnet or if you'll pitch it when I'm not looking. It's scary. Because every Popsicle-stick creation and every clumsy, glitter-covered work of art is a self-portrait.
  Jon Acuff says "Your art is not your identity. Your work is not who you are, it's a byproduct of knowing who you are." And he's right. But it's very, very hard not to take criticisms bone-deep personally. It's just the way it is for a writer.
I'm not asking you for partiality. You don't have to like my writing or anybody else's. Just the other day I read a tiny bit of a popular series. It was an author far more "successful" than I. I won't tell you which series was because, I'm sorry, I thought the writing was stinky. So I do understand. Really. Please don't think of today's post as a plea for sensitivity because it's not. It's just another glimpse. Not all writers have the same measure of talent or discipline. Writers write. I don't think all writers are good. I do think all writers are brave.

Fear Not

Fear Not

I can't believe January is almost over. Time does seem to be speeding by, but still we're at the start of a new year. New beginnings, new promises, new goals: that's January. This year I've set a goal, too. Typing these words is just a small part of that. If you're reading this then you probably already know that I'm a writer. I've published one book so far and I am working on the second. My first book, The Valley Without Her, (you can find it here) was fun and easy to write. 
The, as yet untitled, book I'm working on now is not easy and not really much fun to write. But I'm done with whining and worrying and one of my main goals for this year is to finish my book. It will have a title and everything!
So a few weeks ago I wrote this post on my author page on facebook and I'm sharing it here. It's some accountability for me, yes, but maybe you're holding on to your security blanket, too and it will help you to know there's someone else out there who's scared to try.

 Last week my pastor spoke about facing our fears in 2016. He pointed out how Linus dropped his security blanket while quoting Luke 2 right at the moment he said "fear not". I was convicted. So I'll put down the blanket: I'm going to finish my story. I keep saying that I'm not as confident in this one. It's too short. People might hate it. People say they're going to read it but they never do and that's disappointing. These are all lame excuses that don't excuse me from anything. I don't want to be like the wicked servant Jesus talked about in His parable in the 18th chapter of Matthew. I don't want to bury my gift, even if it's small. Not for my readers, not for myself, but for Him I will face my fears and write the story.