Over the past few weeks, I’ve had this slow-acting epiphany steal through my body. All these little things adding up to bring about an entire brain-shift. I thought maybe I’d share it here.
Most of you know I’ve been waiting. One of my manuscripts is awaiting Pub Board. The full is also in the hands of seven other publishing houses who have yet to respond (since January). Not sure if this means they aren’t interested, or if they truly just haven’t gotten to it yet. But I digress. This is not the point of my post.
The point is to share my epiphany.
I landed an agent in November of last year.
I’m going to be honest with you now. Dead honest. (And you have permission to laugh.) There was a part of me that thought all my dreams had come true the night I received The call (you know which call I’m talking about). There was a part of me that seriously thought all my problems would go away, I’d float on cloud nine for the remainder of my days, all happiness and joy mine forever and ever. This was the moment when everything would start happening! I’m still not sure yet what I thought would happen, but I was convinced my world would be in a permanent state of excitement from then on out. Because I. Had. An. Agent.
Then reality set in.
My fabulous agent submitted my stuff. The waiting began. And I started to think….Hey, wait a minute, this isn’t as glorious as it was supposed to be. I still get irritable over stuff that used to make me irritable. I still get PMS. I still go through periods of doubt where I think my writing is the most horrific excuse for story-telling ever penned by another human being. I still occasionally get the urge to shake my fist at the stars and scream, “Why isn’t anything happening?” when I open my gmail. I’m not published yet. And if possible, the waiting is worse. Yes, worse! This isn’t what I signed up for at all.
Then delusion creeps up on me.
I start to think. Okay, so getting an agent wasn’t the answer to all life’s problems. Okay, fine. But getting published. Oh, but getting published. Now THAT will be the answer. That will be the moment when everything comes together. That will be the day when all my dreams come true and all my prayers are answered. The moment when every breath will finally make sense. Yep. I get it now.
I’m poking fun at myself, but I don’t think I’m alone in my delusions. I think my thinking (whoa) sheds light on a serious human condition. This insidious belief that once we accomplish this thing we’ve set our sights on, or once we reach a certain rung on the ladder of our lives, everything is going to get better. For me, it’s publication. For others, it’s a promotion. Or a raise. Or a job. Or an award. Or a status. Or a guy. Or a girl. Or a baby. Or a million and one other dreams we might dream.
Here’s where the epiphany comes in.
I’m sitting through a church service like the one I sat through a few Sundays ago and God pretty much reaches out His holy hand and smacks me in the face.
The pastor showed a very short clip of Tom Brady being interviewed on 60 Seconds. Tom says, “This can’t be it. I mean, come on, there has to be something more.”
Umm…. I don’t know if you know this or not, but Tom Brady has three super bowl rings. Three. Let’s do an analogy. Tom Brady is to football as Karen Kingsbury is to the world of Christian fiction. He’s reached his goals. He’s won the super bowl three times. Yet, something inside him isn’t satisfied. He realizes life isn’t ultimately about the ring. And I realized something I already knew in my head, but hadn’t quite grasped with my heart.
My life isn’t about getting published.
Getting published, while one of my dearest dreams and grandest writing ambitions, is not my life’s pursuit. It shouldn’t be. Because if that’s the basket I’m putting my eggs into. If that’s what I’m banking on to bring about ultimate joy and fulfillment, then I’m in for a sore disappointment. Someday I’ll hold my book in my hand and realize I’m still easily-annoyed by traffic jams. I’m still angry when my husband fails to read my mind. My son still bites when I tell him not to. I’m not selling as many books as I envisioned. I’m not getting the accolades or great reviews I’d set my heart upon. And I’m still hungry (for chocolate, yes, but also for something more).
In the words of Tom Brady….this can’t be it. There has to be something else.
Oh, Lord, I’m so thankful there is.
My life isn’t about pursuing publication. My life’s ultimate goal isn’t about being multipublished with my own shelf in Barnes and Noble. My happiness does not (and should not) hinge upon selling my manuscripts.
My life’s pursuit is Jesus. It’s knowing Him. Drawing near to Him. Pursuing Him with a passion and devotion that trumps any contract, any advance, any amazing phone call that may or may not be coming my way. That’s the “it” Tom Brady was talking about. That’s the “it” I want to cling to. Like the words to that old hymn: Give me one pure and holy passion. Give me one magnificent obsession. Give me one glorious ambition for my life. To know and follow hard after you.”
While writing is a God-given gift and a passion He’s burned into my heart, it’s not my life’s breath. Jesus is my life’s breath. My job is to pursue Him. And let Him do what He wills with my writing. Knowing that makes waiting a lot easier.
Questions to Ponder: Have you had any epiphanies lately? Are you as delusional as me? Have you ever thought getting an agent, or getting a contract, will or would be the answer to all of your prayers?