I haven’t been super public about this, but here goes: I wrote a book proposal.
Like for an actual book.
It is a concept I developed and tweaked and honed, again and again. It includes an outline that I painstakingly worked through and reworked, moving the pieces and making new ones and throwing some out and moving them again. Our kitchen walls have been covered in sticky notes of various colors and sizes for months, some with abbreviations that only make sense in my brain. It has a few chapters already written, chapters that have been worked and reworked until they became chapters that are 1- a good picture of who I am as a writer, and 2- something I would be proud to put out into the world.
I learned so much about the publishing process, about how my brain works, about how to use what I’ve been given to really serve you, dear reader.
It was a labor of love, and I worked harder on it than I can remember working on anything.
About two weeks ago, I had to release it. I did all I could do, and I had to press send. I hovered over “send” for a good minute before I sent that email with the most important attachment I’ve ever sent. But I sent it. I’ve done what I could, and it’s out of my hands.
It is currently on the desk of someone (or several someones) who will decide if it becomes a book in your hands.
And, if I’m honest, I’m a little afraid to hope.
I’ve only told a handful of people. Well, until today.
And until the past few days, I didn’t really think much about why.
But that's why: because I’m a little afraid to hope.
I’m a little afraid to hope because my family has made incredible sacrifices for me to even get to this point, and a “no” would feel like I let them down.
I’m a little afraid to hope because there’s a very real chance that I’ve poured my heart and tears into something that may never see the light of day.
I’m a little afraid because, while I haven’t talked about it much publicly, the handful of people who know have pushed me and celebrated me. They’ve prayed and texted and bought me special notebooks for my ideas. They’ve spent their time reading drafts and offering edits and catching my blindspots. They’ve believed in me and this project, and a “no” would feel like I’ve disappointed them.
I’m a little afraid because I believe this book is something that could really serve real people, but it may never get the chance.
I’m honestly a little afraid to publish this post because there’s a very real chance that the moment I press “publish” and make this thing public is the moment I get an email that says “We’ve decided to pass, thanks.”
I’m a little afraid to hope because I’m scared I’m going to get disappointed.
And the truth is? I could.
Some would say that’s not believing hard enough.
But I don’t think so.
I cannot manipulate the hand of God by being “enough” in any way, shape, or form.
If I could, He wouldn’t be God.
The truth is it’s all mercy.
It’s all grace.
My faith is not one of manifesting or of being enough.
My faith is one that knows I’m not enough, but Jesus is.
My faith is one that says, “Even if.”
Even if I get disappointed.
Even if all this work turns out to be an exercise in obedience, just between me and Him.
Even if no one but God sees the final project.
Even if those chapters were written just for the few proofreaders to see.
While I felt like pressing “send” on that email took it out of my hands, the reality is that it’s always been out of my hands. It’s up to me to steward what I’ve been given, but I’m not on the hook for making sure this project actually makes it to a bookshelf. Hear me clearly: I’d love nothing more, but it’s ultimately not up to me. Published or not, some things are still true. They’ve always been true:
God is faithful. He’s good. And He’s after our hearts.
Maybe this work is the first step in getting this book in your hands.
I sure hope so.
But maybe it was a way for me to learn all over again that faithfulness is what’s been asked of me.
Mercy and obedience over sacrifice.
Trust and joy in the Lord over results.
Jesus over everything.
So I said yes.
I put in the work, and the tears, and I’ve stewarded this thing in the best way I know how.
And so I’m trusting Him with the results.
I know what I hope for. But more than that, I know Who I hope in.
