Writing a book is much like gestating a child for months before we birth it to the publisher on it’s due date.

I’ve gotten to know this manuscript well and she isn’t even finished yet. She still has a month to go before she’s due.

And through this process, I’ve learned so much, which is, of course,  always how God rolls – process, not product. Every time.

I understand why many authors don’t write their first book until all of their children are in school.

I understand why book proposals are so important because they’re just as much for the author’s own organization as they are to pitch to publishers.

And I understand why writers get so attached to their work.

I’ve had moments of an unsteady heart, fickle voices that say I can’t do it, there’s no way I’ll get it done in time and who do I think I am to write a book anyway?

Without failure, He steps in to steady my heart either through inviting me out for a walk or a well-timed phone call from a heart sister who speaks truth.

I am his toddler, taking wobbly new steps on legs that threaten to buckle at any moment.

He is the hand that guides the new, unsure steps. The one who keeps my heart steady as I walk a new path. The one who silences me when I hear the voices of the critics louder than I hear His own.

He whispers truth and reveals an amount of love I can’t fathom.

He tightens His grip as I walk those wobbly steps and doesn’t let go.

And I’m steadied again.



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