writer. editor. strategist.
The table we made was not actually stable. The part professionally assembled—the table top—was solid, but the frame was wobbly, swoony, prone to dancing with sporadic, awkward movements, like a suburban mom trying Zumba for the first time.
I stood at the base of that magnificent glacier and asked God, “Am I a glacier, too? Am I supposed to be preserved or liquidated? Am I being put to use or being wasted?”
I’ve called God faithful, but what I really meant was that God was cooperating with my well laid plans. But what about the times of waiting? What about periods of longing rather than gratification?
Here in the waiting, there’s a restlessness that’s not countered by the distraction of a settled new reality. We aren’t exchanging one version of life for another. No, we are leaving one version of life behind and still waiting to find out why and what for.
Big changes like these tend to shine a light on the things we rely on for security. They tend to eject us from the comforts we have called home.
After a tidal wave of rejections, I stopped working on the book and took a job as a technical writer. I let my writing dreams hibernate for a while and it felt like a relief. A year and half later, at the exact moment I could not have been thinking about writing any less, my father-in-law introduced me to a new publisher friend of his.