“You will be published if you keep writing”

A speaker at a writers conference said this a few years ago.  Super obvious. I probably paid way too much to attend that conference, right?

Wrong.

It’s true. But you just have to actually do it.

You have to sit down, open up the computer and write.  And then you have to pitch articles and books and write proposals. You have to hone your skills when someone tells you your writing stinks. You have to take criticism  and edit and start over sometimes. You have to throw out whole paragraphs and chapters and rethink the structure.  When you don’t have time, you have to make time. You have to do what it takes.

This goes for most things.

You want to have a good marriage?  You want to be a worship leader?  You want be an effective communicator?  Then you have to do what it takes.

Find out what it takes, and then KEEP doing it until it happens.

I can call myself a writer and even write a whole book, but if I don’t let anyone know about it, if I’m not willing to be the best at my craft then it will go nowhere. If I want a good marriage and have the best intentions, but I hold on to my bitterness and selfish heart, then I will be stuck in that same horrible marriage forever.  I can be a great guitar player and even have a great voice, but if I don’t work at daily intimacy with God, the music will be just a bunch of nice songs. And if I have a story to tell but I don’t practice telling it well, then no one will listen.

God has given us talents for a reason and many of our callings go unused because we simply are lazy, distracted or let life get the best of us. We settle.

I’m not published yet, but I’m not giving up. Never.  I’m not going to settle either.  If I believe God has called me to do this, if it’s right and good and if there is evidence that I have some skill in it, then it will happen.

I have to do what it takes.  And actually get out my computer and write. And I didn’t pay too much for that writers conference. It was the single most useful thing I’ve learned in a long time.

What are you called to do? Are you having trouble fulfilling that calling?

I’ve been busy lately writing in a couple other places than here.

So take a look at the short article I wrote for The Worship Community this morning.  I’m not a worship leader, but my husband has been for as long as I’ve known him, and even so, I write for the WC once in awhile.

Sitting Down (For the Record)

During worship, I sometimes sit.

You’ve seen me.  But then I disappear when everyone else stands, because now I’m hiding behind the dozens of standing bodies of everybody else worshiping.  I’m still there. But I’m sitting.

When the worship leader says stand,

And he says,

Raise your hands.

Close your eyes.

Praise Him…

Sometimes I’m sitting.

I know there’s freedom in worship and for the record I’m really not trying to be a rebel (If I was, I’d show up with a scowl and come in for the sermon only after the music is done.  Or I wouldn’t come at all.)

But I sit, sometimes…

Click here to read the rest of the article and Why I Sit sometimes.

And then come back.  Because last week, I wrote a short post on healing for my dear friend Jenni Clayville (who has walked the same road I have and has been brave enough to share her story on her own blog).  She posted my post on Friday here.

Itches and Miracles

It hurts to heal.  Or at least itches.

When I was a little girl I would scrape my knee/shin/elbow like all little girls do.  After a band-aid was in place my father would tell me not to itch it.  I would think, “It doesn’t itch yet, it just hurts!”

But he was right; as soon as the wound would begin to heal, it would begin to itch and I’d want to rip off the bandage and scratch scratch scratch until it felt better.

But what I didn’t realize was the itching it would have reopened the wound.  The scrape, even if it hurt and itched, needed the environment of the bandage to heal.

And time.  And then a miracle.

It’s the same with us.  With our big stories and big wounds and I-don’t-think-it-will-ever-be-the-same situations…

Click here to read the rest of the post.  If you haven’t met Jenni yet, you’ll love her.

When we named our seven-year-old, Hope, I never thought that sometimes only speaking her name would wear me out.  That the word, Hope, would become so common to me that I might even forget what it really means.

She asked me when she was a little girl what her name meant.

I told her,

“Something good’s about to happen.”

Boiled down and simplified, this is what Hope is…the fact that in Faith, we know and trust that something good is always about to happen.

Because of Christ.  Of His promises.  Of Grace.

Hope Overused

At the time I needed something unique.  I didn’t want to be like everyone else naming their baby girls iterations of “Hannah” or “Katelyn” or “Madison”.  There is nothing wrong with those names, I just (selfishly perhaps) wanted my daughter to stand out from the multitude.

Not Ruth.
Not Charis.
Not Gracie.

I was pulling for all of these names at one point or another to name our baby girl who would come early in January of 2002.  None seemed right.

I know some parents wait until the baby is born to see which of the hat-full of names fits.  They look into her dark blue eyes and search for the name she was meant to have.  Sometimes they leave the hospital with “BABY _________________” in the name field.

Not us.
We knew from the 19-week ultrasound what she would be named.
Hope….

Read the rest of  “Hope Overused” over at (in)courage.  Click here to go!!

And if you are new to my site today, click here to read my whole story.

What does HOPE mean to you?

I’ve been split wide open since last week.

Your stories, your words, even your anger. It has raked me and split me.  I am different than I was at the beginning of last week.

I’ve been changed by the hurt I hadn’t expected to learn about and by the stories of betrayal and deception. I’ve also been changed by your stories of life change and restoration.

My heart has been split in two by

your forgiveness

your acceptance

your understanding

your ministry to others who are hurting.

I completely underestimated how much this, how much you, would change me.

But you have to understand how scared I was. I was terrified for weeks and even the day before wondered if I should really do this.  Yet, over and over again in the comments you say the words:  Bravery. Courage. Boldness. And I’ve been convinced I made the right choice.

But I’m not brave. I’m not bold! I was (and still am) absolutely frightened. And if I am at all courageous, it’s because I just showed up and wrote what I needed to write.

So can courage and fear exist in the same place?

I still don’t know…