I handed my baby to the postal worker this afternoon. I left it reluctantly, even though I feel better about this book than any other I’ve written thus far. In fact, I went back to my car and cried. I’ve never done that before. Usually when I send things off, I’m anxious, jittery. This time, however, thankfulness welled up in me. I cried because finishing this book has been a deeply spiritual experience.
Last Friday, my task seemed impossible—finish the revisions on this book to fulfill a request from an agent. I sent an e-mail to a group of friends and family that have been praying for my writing for a couple of years.
And guess what?
How do I know? I felt the result of their prayers. Strength and stamina that could have only come from the Lord flowed through me each new—always spent by evening, but renewed each morning. The story crystallized under my fingers. Although I wrote 6-9 hours a day, from last Saturday to yesterday, I also managed to feed my family, cheer at my sons’ last football game, be at a family birthday party, attend church and my weekly prayer group, and have lunch with a friend. No way I could have done all that (and been fairly nice to my family in the process) without the Lord doing it through me.
My faith grew this week. My realization that God has indeed gifted me in the area of writing grew as well. (Even in the hard work of it, I loved playing with words and spending time with my characters!) I drove away from the post office with overwhelming peace. Whatever happens with this book—or any of my writing—is completely in the hands of the Lord.
After all God has done this week, I believe that more than ever before.