I stood, my arms raised high, tears in my eyes. Before the throne of God above, I have a strong and perfect plea…
In my early twenties… teens barely behind me… I remembered.
I just wanted to write books for other kids who were hurting, too.
Somehow a stranger gave me the money to stand there… in the midst of the largest publishing conference in California (it’s a story, let me tell ya).
And now, my heart pounding, my arms raised high…
Next to me stood the woman who’d just told me she believed in my dream to publish these books. Like—with a real publisher. The journalism student in me couldn’t even process it.
This woman was a literary agent I’d wanted to stalk for years. Also, my friend, Suzie, promised to kick my butt if I didn’t get over my nerves and talk to this woman.
I have a strong and perfect plea…
Suddenly my pounding heart was replaced with complete peace.
Even if this dream was just that—a dream—and even if everything fell flat—and even if it was just a coincidence that God used a stranger to pay every dime for me to be at this conference—I had a strong and perfect plea.
The measure of my success wasn’t the human standard I work for every day (although I will work, very very hard to make his name big). The measure of success was Jesus—my strong and perfect plea.
That was several years, several books, and several kids ago.
But I woke up this morning with dark circles under my eyes.
It’s been a stretch of a week. Most of it was spent typing in the dark, doing the marketing thing when the kids were in bed, and lying on the floor playing Barbies while the room was spinning thanks to a trial of a new antiseizure meds. (Just temporary side effects.)
I don’t know where you are today with your dreams. I do know God put them in your heart. Whatever you’re working on—however you’re reflecting how big his name is—I want you to know that in the end,
You have a strong and perfect plea.
