When I was a child, I thought dandelions were beautiful flowers. My admiration remained, even when someone informed me they were not, in fact, flowers, but a pesky weed. I loved the way they lit up a grassy meadow with their brilliant splashes of sunshine yellow. After gathering up bunches of the sun-kissed weed, I would proudly present them to my mother. And if she received them with somewhat less enthusiasm than I had expected, she must be forgiven, for the mother of twelve children receives hundreds of such gifts.
Yet I offered them still. In fact, I braved bees, and mud, and sunburn to gather my bouquet, for what token of love can be given without facing something you fear?
Fear is a funny thing. What one fears, another may deem silly.
I must admit I have a strange and perhaps irrational fear of social media. Okay, maybe it’s not truly a fear—it’s more of an aversion—but it’s real.
Let me explain. The fear isn’t of failure. I’m aware that there is an altogether good chance of that—my books may never become published, let alone popular. No, the fear is that I’ll do it wrong.
“Isn’t that the same thing as failure?” you might ask. Not really. I could write my books, and build my platform, and even draw in a large crowd, yet still miss the mark on what I was called to do. I want to do it for the right reasons—for the glory of God and not for myself. I want to do it with excellence and not just amateurish enthusiasm. I don’t want to get it wrong.
But even beyond the spiritual and professional aspects, I can’t deny that a large part of my reticence is a reluctance to open myself up to other people. I don’t want to be accountable for every little thing I say. I don’t want to be judged by my looks, my words, or my work. I don’t want to see someone’s nose wrinkle with distaste and call my work a common weed.
And yet, I believe that I have been called to write. What’s more, I believe that what I write could bring joy and encouragement to young readers. I think that the world needs more wholesome stories about Christian kids facing real problems and learning truth in the process.
So, what does this mean for me? It’s simple; I need to get over myself—learning to laugh at my foibles while constantly striving to be better; using the tools God has provided to say the things God has given me to say. Sometimes that means listening to other people’s opinions—allowing their criticism to strengthen my work rather than damper my enthusiasm. And I need to acknowledge that at times I will get it wrong. Because no matter how much effort I put into my work, I must accept that, in the end, I will be offering up a bouquet of dirty dandelions to my heavenly Father knowing that He will accept them with joy.
I suppose that’s all any of us are called to do.
