Please Lord, please…could I possibly get an honorable mention? Just one of those beautiful folders with a certificate inside. Please, Lord? My mom liked my story. She said it made her cry. That counts for something, doesn’t it?
The urgent prayer pounded in my heart and mind as I strained to hear the voice of the contest coordinator during the writers conference awards dinner. A hundred conversations swirled around the banquet room but my attention was riveted on center stage.
Please, Lord…
For this girl, 2014 was not just another conference. After running from God’s purposes for close to a decade, I stepped onto the conference campus with a heart of fear and trembling and a suitcase packed with dreams.
Alone and not knowing anyone in attendance, I gripped the Lord’s hand so tightly I half-expected to hear a Holy Ghost ouch!
But with great compassion and long-suffering, God carried me as I clung and held me as I wept.
First, I cried through my critique session. Then I cried from the embarrassment of crying. I sobbed after workshops from hearing God’s call in the encouragement and teaching of the faculty. The tears flowed each evening as I praised God for new friendships with other writerly souls.
My time of wandering in the desert, fighting the call to write, was ending—and it wasn’t comfortable. Thrilling, maybe. Terrifying, without a doubt. But comfortable? Not even a little bit. (I guess the Lord thought my desert needed watering because I think of that week as the Great Flood.)
By Wednesday evening and the awards banquet, I was a sopping mess. I had the “gall” to enter two contests. The short story category passed me by and now I was pleading my case for flash fiction.
Please, Lord…I need something tangible to affirm your voice.
The announcer stepped to the podium. “Flash fiction, honorable mention…”
The name called wasn’t mine.
Third place, Lord? Would that be possible?
As the third and second place winners were called and applause filled the room for other writers, the strangest thing happened. I took a deep breath and realized that my soul was infused with joy—and peace and hope and excitement for the future. Whatever happened, God brought me to this place.
The moment was the culmination of a heart’s surrender and a life’s redirection. No matter what, I was a writer.
And yes, I wanted to cry.
I glanced up, surprised that the announcer was still talking. “Flash fiction, first place…”
In the most surreal of moments, my name floated from the stage.
I’m sure I gave those around me a good chuckle. My hands flew to my mouth, I gasped, and my thoughts were screaming, I want to thank my mama, my papa, and the good Lord above (the CMA awards would have been proud).
The award was more than “winning.” A gracious God affirmed His call and design. He brought life back to my barrenness.
A year later, the 2015 conference was amazing. More affirmation. New doors of opportunity. But do you know what hangs front and center on my office bulletin board?
The award for my little piece of flash fiction. The one that I hoped to reach an honorable mention.
For a loving Father gave me more than I dreamed or imagined.
We serve a God who restores and turns ashes into beauty. He reaches through fear and tugs—fearfully and gently—come, child…trust Me.
If fear is preventing you from attending a conference or entering a contest, remember this:
There is joy, peace, and passion in doing what you were created to do.
The time is now.
Reach. Write. Live.
As you seek to put pen to paper, how do you battle the voices of doubt and insecurity? What will you do this year to break through any fear or hesitation in your writing?
[bctt tweet=”There is joy, peace, and passion in doing what you were created to do. @A3forMe @lthomaswrites #amwriting #ampublishing” via=”no”]
[bctt tweet=”We serve a God who restores and turns ashes into beauty. @A3forM3 @lthomaswrites #amwriting #write #restore” via=”no”]
