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Life is Full of Misconceptions

On Life, On Writing, , , , , ,
the yellow brick road
the yellow brick road

Misconception #1: My parents are perfect and life is fair.

Misconception #2: My parents don’t know anything and life is way unfair.

Misconception #3: I will be a perfect parent.

Misconception #4: (After having a child) Misconception #2 was way off. Life is indeed unfair but perhaps my parents knew a great deal more than I was willing to give them credit for during the throws of teenage hormonal imbalance.

Misconception #5: Having a literary agent guarantees publication.

I have taken a sort of unannounced sabbatical from blogging over the past few weeks. Granted, there has been a great deal of change in our lives recently but the lack of posts has had more to do with my confrontation of misconception #5.

Perhaps I should be embarrassed to admit such ignorance. But seeing as this isn’t the worst of my naiveté, it seems safe to share. Deep down inside, I honestly believed that once I secured an agent, I would become a published author. And I thought I was being reasonable. I waited for months. It seems to me that if another human can take shape and form in the void in ten months, an editor can pick my book for publication in less time.

Oh wait, I think I just discovered Misconception #6: The editing process is timely.

Anyway, I received another rejection yesterday. “We like your writing, blah, blah, blah, but the story is too dark.” The story happens to be about PTSD. And yes, it’s dark. I lived it. I remember.

In the face of yet another rejection I had to finally confront misconception #5. And let me just say that this blog is in no way a slight against my agent. She didn’t write the dark story that no one wants. She’s just doing her job. (nothing but love, K)

So my first book may not make it down the golden road of publication. (Misconception #7: The road to publication is paved in gold.) But maybe there’s another story in me.

I wonder if I have confused my misconceptions as failure. If I believed that I would be published and then I wasn’t, isn’t that a reflection of my ability? Yeah, it has felt like failure. They don’t like my story, they don’t like me, I’m not really a writer…spiral, spiral, spiral.

“Pilot to co-pilot, I smell smoke.”

And so I stopped writing. Or blogging. (Which is kind of like fast food writing.)

But just as I learned to overcome the misconceptions I had regarding parenting, maybe it’s time I grew up in the writing world too. Having an agent doesn’t mean I’m necessarily closer to publication. I think maybe it means that God knows I wouldn’t or couldn’t do this without a cheerleader. Which annihilates another misconception.

Misconception # who’s keeping track: I am super woman and can do anything and I don’t need anyone’s help.

How about you? Do you suffer under the delusions of misconceptions?

What am I doing here?

On Faith, , ,

Prison cell

Did Joseph ever forsake the dreams and visions of his youth? There he sits, in a jail cell in Egypt. Being sold into slavery was bad enough but to then be thrown into prison unjustly? I wonder if there were any conversations like this…

“OK God. Just checking to see if you got my new address? I’m pretty sure you knew I was no longer in my father’s house. Thanks for sparing my life by the way. Trying to keep perspective. But the most recent event is the transfer from Potifer’s house to prison. Just making sure you have my current info.”

“Joseph, I’m right here.”

“Right. Well, since we don’t have anywhere to be can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

Joseph sits on the hard dirt floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. His focus stays on the ant scurrying past. He smirks. Even the lowly ant may come and go as he pleases.

“Remember those dreams I used to have? The sheaves of wheat bow down. Those ones. Remember?”

“Of course.”

Joseph waits for the Creator of the Universe to say more. The ant changes direction and God remains silent.

“Uh, can we talk about those?”

“What about them?”

“Well, I just mean this is about as far away from those as possible.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Really?” Joseph tries to keep his voice in check. The frustration mingles with anger but he cannot forget to whom he is speaking. “All right.” He sighs. “Could you at least let me know what to expect next?”

“I already have. That’s what the dreams are about.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” He bounds to his feet.

“I get that it doesn’t make sense to you. But it makes perfect sense to me.”

“Wait a sec.” Joseph stops pacing and faces the stone wall. “Are you telling me those dreams are going to be fulfilled?”

“Yeah. Why not? Yes, Joseph you are in prison. Do you think I looked away for one minute and the plan got away from me? Let me ask you something.” Joseph braces himself for a question from the mouth whose very spoken word hung the stars in the sky. “Did I go too far?”, he wonders.

“Do you think I would give you a dream and not prepare you for it? Do you think you were ready to see those dreams fulfilled while you were still a teenager and a daddy’s boy?”

The force of God’s questions puts Joseph back on the dirt. He cradles his head in his hands and tears stain the red packed earth. He braces himself for the lecture from the Almighty.

But God is silent. In the void of conversation, a warmth falls over Joseph’s shoulders. His breathing evens and the chisled lines of the cell walls blur. A weightless sensation envelopes him as the presence of God surrounds and supports him. Comforting. Sustaining. Solid.

Are you someplace you thought you’d never be wondering how you got there?

And then the Great I Am speaks.

“I am with you always. Do not worry about the dreams or how they will come to pass. Focus on Me. The One who will never leave you. And trust Me that I am still at work.”