By Amanda Cleary Eastep
I think about quitting.
Letting go of writing like it’s some wild mammal I’ve tried to raise and train only to have it piss on the furniture and snap at my hand when I try to feed it.
But who would I be if I didn’t write? I have announced, “I am a writer” — followed closely by “I am a mother” — for most of my life.
I’m not a prolific writer (and I only birthed 3 kids, 1 every 3 ½ years).
I’m not Christian author Ann Voskamp whose words blow out of her brain as regularly as my daily fits of hopeless sighing. She reads her words to audiences; she sells posters with quotes in calligraphy from her books.
But if I don’t write, the mantle God has given me to wear hangs heavy on the fragile wire frame of my heart, soaked with doubt and fear and excuses.
So I write, and hang it out there in the sun.
And it feels good, my heart is lighter. I trust that the words made a small difference. Made one person feel good, made her heart lighter, too.
This is the sometimes uncomfortable part where we do everything unto the Lord. Not the thousands of readers I think I wish I had.
I’m a writer in a blogger bog that sucks most of us up; only a few stand above it somehow. Maybe they’re stronger swimmers, more determined, more called than I am. Anointed even. As my golfer husband noted, for every Rory McIlroy there are 100,000 good golfers.
It’s hard to be ok with that.
It’s hard until I whine to God, sigh heavily for the 27th time that day, and obey when — just like I did with my kids — he feigns a sad lip and tells me to get back to work.
But really, who better than God to write unto? He died for me. For everyone. And for just me.
He hung there and only a few fans gathered at his crushed feet.
He rose again and only one mourning woman was there to witness the greatest miracle.
Today my friend and I met for lunch, for a 15-minute speed goal-setting workshop in the middle of a day filled with job tasks I don’t always grasp the purpose of.
I could have set goals for a family vacation in North Carolina, for acquiring two more clients for my freelance writing business, and *SIGH* for my writing.
But I didn’t, and she didn’t. She didn’t even bring a pen and paper.
Instead we talked about what we value and not hearing God’s voice and what success looks like if not money and numbers.
I admitted the list I had come up with that morning instead looked something like this…
#1. Don’t quit.
#2. Hang your mantle in the sun.
#3. Do it all for the glory of God.