Tonight, a fellow writer spoke of prayer on his blog and how he’s happier since he’s started praying. It got me thinking of my own story and how/when I got the push to keep going when I was on the cusp of giving up the writer’s dream.
Due to an agent’s revision request via telephone, my hopes were way up and flying around my house like they were crazy. I mean, it was hope on crack! Then one afternoon, I sat down to open an email from the agent who had launched my hopes. It was a rejection.
I pulled my hopes in, told them how dumb they were and stuffed them away. I was willing to keep them locked away forever but, not without some proof. I don’t give up easily. My mother can attest to that. I plopped my head down on my desk-- actually, my head felt too heavy for my neck at that moment, and had a heart-to-heart with the Big Guy Upstairs. I needed to know, right then and there, that this, my writing, was what I was supposed to be doing. If it was meant for me to do something else with my life, I was willing to drop-kick my keyboard to the curb and pursue whatever my true purpose was. My heart was more open than I’ve ever felt.
Do you know what happened next, while my forehead was still one with my desk? I mean, the last word wasn’t even out of my prayer yet when the phone rang. It was another agent. She had one of my manuscripts and wanted to see what else I had. Though that didn’t turn out to be a yes, I had my sign. I had my answer and I pushed on.
Do I believe in the power of prayer? An editor, an agent and a two book deal later, Heck Yes.