My book proposal is now in the hands of 3 acquisition editors and one agent.
I keep second guessing myself. Wanting to redo parts of it. Doubting that I should have sent it at all. Wondering at every turn toward my phone or computer if I should check for messages.
The waiting itself is drawing me inward. My heart feels like its soaking in a mire of desire and doubt, motivation and miscontent, duty and denial, faith and fear. I feel a physical ache when I consider that I've put my heart and my work out there for consideration.
It makes me want to forget the call I felt to write it in the first place. Makes me want to turn toward something else altogether.
Something that would that would help me forget. Anything would do, really.
I thought about organizing my pictures, repainting the hallway, putting a few new plants to bed in the front yard, eating every last snack in the house. All productive and worthy distractions.
Instead, I stood in the shower til the water grew cold;, let my fears bubble to the surface and prayed them down the drain. I listened to a favorite playlist. I read my bible.
And then I thanked Jesus for the freedom to honestly communicate my mixed feelings, and for the Spirit that soothes whether I'm in my Sunday best or my birthday suit.
For now I have peace. But, I'm sure I'll be back there again soon -- in that broken place -- before I hear an answer.
Til then I'll be breathing, trying not to lick the inside of the potato chip bag, and contemplating how it just may be that waiting will be the hardest work yet.