Thursday, July 24, 2014

Um. Ouch.

At the gentle prompting of a friend, I recently decided to contact Proverbs 31 ministries, headed up by president Lysa Terkeurst, to let them know of my interest in writing devotions for them.

P31 serves women across the globe, and as I worked myself up to actually write the email to them, I thought about how cool it would be to see my name attached to my devotion on their website. Yes. And then more people would probably check out my blog, too, which would be even cooler. Besides. I'm authentic, right? Perfectly capable of writing a devotion. Or devotions. I purposefully sent all negative thoughts packing and sent the email.

And thirty seconds later, I got one back.

How efficent of them.

They politely thanked me for my interest, then, with the finality of the last nail in the coffin, said "thanks but no thanks", and offered me the best of luck in my future writing endeavors.

Well.

Ouch.

I have to admit. The rejection stung a little. I mean, heellloo, I had even prayed about this. Isn't prayer supposed to guarantee a success?

Apparently not.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
{from the play The Mourning Bride by William Congreve}

As my mind waffled back and forth between the negative (see, I knew I wasn't good enough) to the positive (ha! as if! clearly they don't even know what they are missing out on!), it became clear to me that obviously, the email I got back had been one of those auto-reply emails, and that once they actually read my email and my blog, I'd get another one explaining the mix-up.

(I'm still waiting for that email. So much for efficiency.)

As I moped around all afternoon, being gloomy and kicking things on the floor, I thought about how much disappointment and rejection can sting. And I thought about God. Doesn't He want what I want? Shouldn't He want what I want?

Oh, dear. It seems I may have gotten this one a bit bassackwards, as my mom would say.

Prayer doesn't magically ward off rejection, or disappointment, or any other seemingly negative emotion. But it does provide me with a center, a place to air my frustrations and give them to God. He's not my genie in a bottle, doing what I want when I want. He's God. How presumptuous of me to assume otherwise. Even if it did seem like a good idea.

On my way to put some clothes away, I peeked into my closet, full of suitcases and bags and dirty laundry (see, I chided myself, you can't even keep your closet clean, you wanna-be writer), and I decided that I may as well get something right and proceeded to dump my bag out on the floor. With all the junk came a small, turquoise devotional called Craving God by none other than Lysa TerKeurst. When I picked it up, the pages opened to a devotion toward the back of the book, aptly called "Disappointment".

Well. How divine.

Disappointment only stings as long as I let it.
{lysa terkeurst}

The above was the thought of the day.

I think I wanted to be disappointed, and grouchy about it, because the book made me mad.

So I slapped it shut.

Normally, I find nice spots to display my books, especially pretty ones like this.

This book did not deserve a nice spot. This book deserved to be dropped on the floor in the middle of the living room, just to prove a point. Which is where it sat until today. When I had to pick it up so I could remember exactly what Miss LT had said about disappointment.

Another reminder.

Harrumph.

But.

I cannot deny that although I feel a little burned by the disappointment, hanging on to it only lets it last longer, darkening my soul and my thoughts. And what's in one's heart comes out of one's mouth, and I try really hard to not be a negative person.

As water reflects the face, so one's life reflects the heart.
{proverbs 27:19}



I had a decision to make. Be mad at P31 forever, or take it stride and work toward being a better writer. I had to choose the latter because honestly, the former has a long-term stink about it.

Disappointment only stings as long as I let it, right Lysa?

No comments:

Post a Comment