I wait and I watch, hoping to see the results come out in my favor. “It’s not there,” I protest as my heart sinks to my feet. I try to be happy for the others, but the tightness in my chest prevents me from being honest.
This was a difficult piece to write. I thought it was one of my best, yet, for reasons unknown to me, it did not make the cut. “What did I do wrong?” I ask myself. I check the grammar and spelling; everything seems to be ok. I even had it proofread before sending it in.
I pout and I sulk. I complain in my heart and whine. “Why? What was wrong with it?”
Then in the middle of my grumbling, I hear a voice. It is a barely audible whisper, “Who did you write that for?”
“It was for you,” I think I recognize that voice. “I did it for You, and they didn’t like it.” I whine.
“If you did it for Me, does it matter who else liked it?” He asks.
“I-I-I guess not,” I stammer.
“Then, why so upset?”
“Because, it didn’t get the recognition I thought it should.”
“Did you write it so they would recognize you?” His questions are so gently spoken.
“I wrote it for You.” I protest. “You showed me the picture and I painted it in words.”
“Then if you wrote it for Me, why does it bother you that they didn’t give it the acclaim you think it deserved?” He rephrases this question in different ways; patient. He endures with me as He gently melts away the scales over my eyes and heart.
“I did it for You,” My confidence in the argument is wavering.
“If your husband was to write you a letter, and in it he expresses his love and gratitude for your faithfulness as a wife, would you allow someone else to critique it or place it in a contest?”
I churn the question in my mind for a moment. “Well no, I wouldn’t. That letter is close to my heart, I would not want it paraded about as some common piece of literature.”
“Then, allow Me to ask again, who did you write it for?” He was referring again to my story.
Lights begin to flicker, and understanding dawns. “I did it for You.” I pronounce as I realize pride had stolen a place in my heart, demanding praise.
With the steam gone out of my engine, I lean my head into His chest and whisper, “Thank You for enduring with me. Your love is amazing.”
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
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Yes, we've all had those moments with our writing; especially within the Writing Challenge! It took me a while to realize that the challenge was a challenge--more for me than anyone else! A way to challenge myself to write better...to learn to edit...to write to topic...to write under time pressures...and to learn to let go of my stuff (that was a hard one!). All in all, I've learned to keep my possessiveness out of my writing--and leave the results to the Lord! Whatever He allows to happen, happens, and to God be the Glory. But, oh, boy...sometimes, I still falter. ( : Thanks for sharing your heart.