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June 27 marks a significant anniversary in my life. Tomorrow it will have been 8 years since I sat on the edge of my bed, buried in grief and rejection, a glut of painkillers in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. Worn and weary, I was ready to sign off permanently. I was done. I’d had enough.
It’s been awhile…. I know. I’ve committed that terrible writing sin of going too long without writing. All the experts agree. You have to be committed. You have to make the time. It’s especially important if you are trying to build that ever important holy grail thoroughfare to publishing: THE PLATFORM. So consider this my confession. I am guilty.
Now that we’ve made our lists and figured out what we can do about those things that are causing us to worry, we can start to dig a little deeper. This is where the real work starts, where we start to analyze our core fears and motivators.
Got your list now? Excellent! Me too. Here’s what I’ve got on my worry list…
For me, anxiety is often a precursor to depression. When faced with a situation that is uncertain and unpredictable, I tend to get overwhelmed. It can feel like the typically well-ordered files within my mind get shuffled around and I lose my ability to concentrate…
I struggle with wanting things to go completely go back to normal. There are too many blessings in this new temporary reality that I am not yet ready to give up…
Today I'm feeling sad. Tomorrow will be another day. The sun will rise. The birds will sing. God will still be on His throne. But today I'm feeling sad…
"The counter is sacred. It manifests into the state of my mind. If it is clean and clear, then my mind is clear to focus. If it is cluttered, crumby, and messy, I can't focus on anything and I can't get done what I need to get done." This was my thesis statement for this afternoon's "Family Meeting"…
Lord God Almighty, The birds sing this morning, their songs of praise reminding us that you provide. You care and provide for them. You will, of course, do nothing less than that for us. Help us..
Being known meant that not only were there those who knew my name and relevant census information, but they also knew my story, my struggles, my strengths, and my snares. It meant having that friend in prayer group who wouldn’t let me get away with looking discouraged on a dark day of doubting without calling me out from across the table, “something’s up with you; spill it.” It meant having another sweet friend and mentor check in with me every few weeks and ask me how my now dust-collecting manuscript was coming along. “I just know God’s going to use it,” she’d say with such calm confidence. It meant having a pastor who specifically took me aside a few weeks before we left to hand me a book reenforcing our identity in Christ that he hoped would be an encouragement for me because he knew of my rejection triggers and how exposed they might be in a move such as ours.