I had to force myself to cut the tag off the shorts. I don’t buy shorts anymore because I am emotionally allergic to the cellulite. You know. But I bought the shorts because, hello? we live in the South and it is hot with a capital H-O-T down here. So I bought the shorts with every intention of returning them. But then, I realized I needed them one percent more than I hated them.
But the worst part of the shorts? They are two sizes bigger than they were the last time I wore shorts. And I blame it all on the book.
I blame a lot of things on the book – my overwhelming fear of failure, my unpredictable crying fits, my dirty dishes, my lack of motivation to come up with a meal plan. And now, my two-sizes-bigger shorts. I told The Man the other day how the last nine months have been some of the most emotional of my life and it’s no wonder because, you know, the book and all. And he smiled and listened. He didn’t seem surprised at my declaration of emotional hardship and this uncovering of dormant insecurity that has been taking place. After all, my book is all about the hiding, the uncovering, and finally, the rescue. He reminded me of that, in his own way.
And then I started to cry and said maybe I don’t have my ducks in a row enough. Or maybe I’m not praying enough or quiet enough or brave enough or whatever enough. He reminded me that God doesn’t look for lined up ducks, but for the smallest bit of faith, the kind that rolls around with mustard seeds. The kind you can hardly see. Because he takes that kind of faith and does miracles with it so that nobody could look at it and say Oh, well of course she could do that because she has it so together. Have you seen her ducks?! Instead, he does things through and with people so that they will say I never could have done that on my own. I don’t even have any ducks.
This is how the end of this manuscript writing journey is a lot like the beginning. Because at the beginning, I wrote this post. And now, I’m wearing shorts and talking about ducks. This process has been bookended by crazy. Aren’t you thankful for the guest posters that are holding this place together while I am a lunatic person?
Seriously, I have three weeks until it’s due. I will be ready, even though I know all the crazy talk might say a different thing. Even with all of the insecurities that have been smoked out in this process, I am learning to embrace my frail humanity and receive grace as it is offered. Thank you for your part in the extension of that grace with your constant encouragement, prayers, and friendship. Tomorrow I’ll post a sweet poem by a new blog friend Kristina. She’s a twin and her husband is a twin too, so I automatically like her.