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Have
you ever discovered that you’re not who you thought you were?
I did recently, and let me tell
you, it can be a frightening experience.
Several months ago, I received
an e-mail telling me I was a finalist in a novel competition. And being
the optimist that I am, my eyes shifted. Okay, what’s going
to happen to me now?
Now, I know I shouldn’t behave
in this manner, but it seems like whenever I receive good news, well,
something bad happens soon after, so I can’t seem to help myself. I’m
still trying to trust God in this area.
In fact, He’s the reason I made
it to the finals to begin with. Before entering the competition, I
prayed, “God, I don’t care if I win or not, but if you would bless me
to final, I’d be happy. I don’t have to win.”
So God had answered my prayer.
Right?
I should have been elated. Don’t
you think?
When they announced the winners,
though, and I wasn’t one of them, guess who got a sour attitude laced
with major disappointment?
As I moped around the house, my
husband, with his uncanny wisdom and unique ability to know when to
deliver said wisdom, said to me, “Honey, I don’t know why on earth
you’re so upset. You did tell God that as long as
you placed, you’d be happy. Remember?”
Don’t you hate it when someone
plays the “I Remember” game, throwing your words back in your face? I
mean, I knew the man was right, but in my humble opinion, what did that
have to do with anything?
I flipped my hand. “I know
what I said. Is this supposed to make me feel better right now?”
“Well, you should have asked
God for more if you really wanted to win.”
I showed my vast intelligence. “And?
”
“I’m just telling you. That’s
all.”
That’s all. I wanted to throw
back my head and laugh. After being married for twenty-nine years, I
knew “that” wasn’t all.
He
started to walk away, but
then stopped and turned around.
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I
told you the little lamb chop
wasn’t finished with me yet.
His
meaty hand pointed a finger
in my direction. “You know what your problem is, Deb?”
I jutted my chin and spoke like
a heroine from a historical romance novel set in England. “Tell me,
what is my problem?”
“You’re afraid of success, not
failure.” He jabbed his finger in the
air for emphasis. “That’s what your problem is.”
Suddenly, the room grew quiet,
and so did I—a rarity.
Within seconds, his eyes lit up
like a Christmas tree because he knew he had me.
Worse still?
I knew he had
me.
Oh, how I hate when this
happens. I hate even more to admit when he’s right about such things.
I’d rather have my teeth pulled.
He held his stance. “It’s true,
isn’t it?”
Drats. Go away. Leave
me alone to wallow in my misery.
His eyes bore into mine. “Deb?”
My royal attitude evaporated.
“Okay, fine. It’s true.”
“But why, honey? God’s given
you a gift.”
Why.
Well, I didn’t know why, but it
finally hit me that I have been sabotaging myself. All this time I’ve
blamed other things for impeding my progress. Don’t get me wrong, other
obstacles have crossed my path, but I now see the other problem has
been me. Yes. I said it. Me. (I am woman; hear me roar.)
Anyway, this divine revelation
has left me with much to think about. It makes no sense that I would do
such a thing, but I have. This writing journey is crazier than I
thought.
I’ll have to learn to trust God
in this area too.
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