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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity . . .” Oh, if only I could create a masterpiece like Charles Dickens’, “A Tale of Two Cities”. I guess all I’ll ever do is write a few poems, articles, and short stories for the people at Faith Writers, for my blog, and for my family, at least those who will read them. Jennifer sighed. An hour in front of her computer, with her hands resting on the keys and her eyes glued to the blank screen only added to her battle with depression.
“I don’t know why I even try.” Jennifer slammed the keyboard drawer closed and threw herself across the bed in tears. Forty-eight-year-old Jennifer Wallace was fighting old feelings of failure and uselessness.
“You try because you’re good at what you do.” Bill Wallace sat on the edge of the bed, gently laid his hand on hers, and spoke softly to his bride of twenty-nine-years. “Sweetheart, don’t let a couple of negative comments get you so discouraged. You’re a good writer and lots of people benefit from what you have to say.”
“I’ve been part of Faith Writers for three months and I haven’t placed once. I’ve only been in the top forty, three or four times. How can you say I’m a good writer?” Jennifer has struggled with self-worth and value issues all her life. She chose to stay at home with her children and be the best wife and mother she could be. Now they were all married with children, each one serving in ministries in their respective churches. They all desired to provide the same nurturing environment to their children that they received from her.
Bill and Jennifer have served as pastors to the Mt. Sinai Temple for twelve years. With a congregation of 450, they are both busy. Jennifer serves as the Women’s Ministry Director, teaches Intermediate Sunday school, and manages the office staff. She works hard to find time to write.
“What about all those articles you’ve had published in those magazines and that women’s magazine you do the column for. Lots of people read those and you know you’re helping them.” Bill understood Jennifer’s feelings of inadequacy. She had worked hard to earn her Master’s degree in counseling, but still struggled with the fact that she had quit high school. Jennifer was convinced that she was stupid, the nickname her brothers gave her when she was a child. Bill knew, however, that she was brilliant and talented in so many areas that her whole life blessed others.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Jennifer sat up and took the tissue Bill handed her. “I’m sorry, Honey. I know I’m being silly. It’s only one person’s opinion. It’s a good article and I know I’ll sell it, It just hurts when I write something that I feel is good and everyone else doesn’t think it’s as good as I do.” Bill loved Jennifer’s smile, even a sheepish one. Jennifer scooted closer into Bill’s embrace. “I love you. Thanks for being so patient with me.
‘I’d better get back to work on my article. This week’s topic is a killer.” Jennifer sniffled, bounced off the bed, and slid into the chair in front of her computer.
“What is it? Bill raised a curious eyebrow.
“Confidence.” Jennifer giggled.
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