~*~

~*~

Yesterday morning, I received what every author dreads: a rejection. And this isn’t your run-of-the-mill, “Thanks, but after reading the proposal, it’s not what we’re looking for.” This comes after a year of encouragement, of high praise, and of a statement that they wanted it and would have a letter of intent to me “soon.”

“Soon” somehow became, “sorry.” Which makes Roseanna go “sigh” and “sniffle” and even a short “sob” before I get a grip on myself.

I’m an old friend with rejection. I’ve been submitting manuscripts since I was fourteen years old, so I’ve obviously gotten my fair share. Everything from the boiler-plate “thanks but no thanks” letters to some very personal, very encouraging apologies. That’s what this one was. The editor loved the story and wants to work with me, but their line’s going in a different direction. I understand that. Really I do. And I appreciate that she offered to talk with me about coming up with another idea.

But that doesn’t make it any easier, you know? For a year, my hopes have been so high on this project. I really, truly believed that this was my “given,” that the encouragement meant I could count on it. But when an optimist like me gets news like this . . . well, there’s some deflation. There’s a headache. There’s some glumness in a royal shade of blue.

And there’s a question of, “What was the point of this, Lord? I know You have a purpose for me, for every bump, for every bruise. I know there’s a reason this was dragged out so long only to end in a disheartening ‘no.’ So if You could just let me know what that is . . . ?”

There’s no magic cure for disappointment, no Band-aid you can put on it, no steps you can follow to put it neatly behind you and keep plugging away. But still, I woke up today feeling okay. Happy, even. Because yesterday I saw the true mettle of the people I love. My friends not only rallied around me with cheer and encouragement and lots of, “You’re too talented not to get picked up soon by a big house!” they had me laughing. They had the optimist in me quickly resurging.

My hubby and I ended up going out for a much-needed date last night, too, and talking to him is always a balm on my soul. I ended my day yesterday knowing that even if life makes us cry now and then, we serve a God who dries our tears. So thank you, Lord, for wrapping your arms around me. And thank you, my awesome friends, for being those arms.

~*~

It strikes me at least once a week that my world is pretty much wrapped up in the internet. Especially when I get to church and someone says something about talking to strangers that you come across each day in an attempt to let Jesus shine through you.

Um . . . there are many days that go by without me seeing anyone other than my family. We’ve started doing The Master’s Way DVD stuff about evangelizing, and one of the challenges is to talk to 5 people each day. To approach strangers, even to offer them a smile. For someone who doesn’t see 5 people a day, this seemed like a monumental challenge.

Then it hit me. I may not see people face-to-face every day, but our world really is online these days. I mean, I’ve only met my best friend in person twice. We’ve only spoken on the phone a couple handfuls of times. But we email constantly. I’m talking at least 2, as many as 18 (if I recall our ludicrous record) times a day. And that’s just Stephanie. I email many, many other people each day too. I comment on Facebook. On blogs. I answer questions on the ACFW loop. So you know . . . I really do talk to strangers each day and offer them virtual smiles.

The Master’s Way is going to be leading us up to witnessing to these total strangers, so naturally one of the first things they ask is, “Do you share your faith regularly?” After the obligatory questions of “What do you mean by ‘regularly’? And what do you mean by ‘share’?” (I mean, come on. Do you want to know if I do street ministry? If I’m just open to talking about it? What??), I realized that yes, in fact I do share my faith regularly. I blog about my challenges and realizations. I talk to people online about faith and how it fits in my life, how it leads me.

I’m not sure what Kirk Cameron (who put out The Master’s Way) was thinking about this type of ministry when he pointed out that we’re all called to minister, but I think it’s perfectly valid in this day and age. And more, I think it’s critical that we acknowledge it. I think it’s important that all those other people out there like me, who spend most of their days at home in front of their computers, realize that they’re touching people. Reaching people. Talking to people, ministering to people through their keyboards, their typed words. Their blogs, their Facebook posts, the Loop emails.

We’re in an E-world . . . and you know what? That’s a pretty awesome thing for the Kingdom of God. I may not be pounding the streets every day with Bible in hand, but I’m pounding Cyberspace with BibleGateway.com up in one of my tabs. And that’s not just okay–that’s really stinking cool.

The Master has a lot of ways of reaching people. Which one of them is the one that works for you?

I know, I know. You look at the title to this post and think I’m going to talk about my kids’ propensity to lose one of each and every set of mittens in the house. And they do, I assure you. But that’s actually not my point at all. =)

On Tuesdays I take Xoe to Story Time at our Library, which she loves. It’s the usual setup–the librarian reads to them, they sing some songs, there’s a craft or snack. The past few weeks, one of the songs has made use of the felt-board and cutout paper mittens in different colors. When the song calls out the color of then mitten you have, you run up and put it on the board. Simple, right?

I’ve noticed something these last few weeks. Whenever Miss Liz says, “Put them here” and pats the board, every other child–I’m talking every . . . single . . . one–puts their colored mitten where she points. The first to get there will put it by the edge, the second (there are two of each color, go figure) right beside it.

Except Xoe.

Naturally, my little princess must be different. On Tuesday, she put her white mitten right in the middle of the board, though the first child to get there with with white put it by the edge, under the red ones, just like the librarian indicated.

I watched carefully when it was her turn again. By the time yellow was called, the board was mostly full. Again, another kid got there with yellow before her. Again, started a nice, neat row.

Where, I wondered, would my little deviant put this one? There wasn’t much room left, other than beside its match. Would she conform?

Er, no. She put it in the spot still open beside the first white one.

I nearly laughed. There it was, this lovely rainbow of mittens, surprisingly well ordered by a bunch of three-year-olds, and the only oddities in the pattern were those two mittens my daughter put up, one white, one yellow. Two bright, cheerful slaps in the face of conformity.

Now, as a mother of a preschooler, there are a lot of moments when I think, “Can’t you just do what you’re told? Please? Must you make waves? Must you do things your own way? Don’t you see that your outfit looks ridiculous, that you’ve made your ‘art’ over top of an actual picture, that you’ve undone all my cleaning by creating this ‘obstacle course’ of toys?” Especially in public. Especially around other mothers with their well-behaved children who come to the Library appropriately dressed.

But you know . . . on Tuesday, something in me cheered. Something said, “Yeah, go Xoe! Make a new pattern! Color outside the lines! Wear red and black Minnie Mouse shoes with a pink and yellow kitty-cat dress! Be you!”

Now, I would like to note that my daughter is darn good for a 4-year-old. She can color inside the lines, follow precise directions, and pick out a pattern. She can clean up her toys, pick out presentable clothes, and charm the socks off any adult she comes across.

But she can also create. She can go around for a full day, narrating a story in her mind that incorporates everything she’s actually doing. She can turn a boring tan rubber band into an intricate bracelet.

She can turn a paper mitten into a bright spot. And this mommy, who sometimes just wishes she would listen, couldn’t be more proud.

That’s right, I confess it. The dishes sometimes sit on the counter for a day or so. The toys lay scattered on the floor. And I flip out every day at four o’clock when I realize that yet again I have to make dinner, and I have no idea what to cook.

Now, that’s not to say I can’t be organized, in fits and starts. This week, for instance, my historical group is doing a book-in-a-week challenge, where we set writing goals and try to meet or surpass them. When we do that, I get down to business. Make sure the house is clean. Plan out the menu for the week. Make a schedule of things that must be done.

But when BIAW is over . . . yeah. It’s pretty much back to mess around here.

Not that I haven’t tried to keep it up. I have–really, truly! It’s lasted all of two, two and a half weeks before I just forget to do something or put off something else and then, poof! Two seconds later, chaos reigns. Seriously. It takes an amazing amount of diligence to keep up with all that junk, and if I falter, my kids are quick to pull out every toy, empty the cabinets of all pots and pans, and generally wreak havoc.

Generally speaking, I don’t mind this about myself, even if I am surrounded by super-organized women who love to cook and put me to shame with their neat, tidy houses (and I love you guys!!). But you know what? It’s a personality type. I’m laid back with more than my housekeeping. I’m not a worrier, I’m easygoing about people butting into my business (usually, lol). I give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

When I’m hunting down something that I’ve lost, I have been known to utter phrases like, “Why can’t I just be better organized?!” But I know my limitations, lol. I’m never going to be the type to regularly make lists, to pick up every crumb, every day. And while I might occasionally wish I did, I’ll leave that to those with the Gift of Organizing.

Me, I’ll just have to be content with pulling it off when necessary and otherwise not fretting about it. =)

GIVEAWAY REMINDER!

First, mine of Stephanie’s book from Friday–today’s the final day to enter!! Tomorrow I’ll be hosting Golden Keyes Parsons and A Prisoner of Versailles.

And for those interested in a giveaway of my A Stray Drop of Blood, there are currently three: Sandi’s, Trish’s, and Melanie’s.

Plus today I’m guest-blogging at Inkwell Inspirations about The Middle Testament. (Didn’t know there was one of those, did you?)

Gasp! The horror . . . The sacrilege . . . Oh, let it not be so, let not this blasphemer be sitting two feet away from me . . .

We just stared at her in shock until she started laughing at the matching expressions on the faces of the four of us in the room. “What?” she finally asked.

I wrapped my tongue around it first. “You threw away books? And you dare to admit it here?”

Now, it’s no secret that we Johnnies are book-lovers. We make a four-year career out of collecting obscure literature, reading it, and discussing it in class. It’s what we do. In a lot of ways, it’s who we are. We are Book Lovers. We unite to sing the praises of all things bound in card stock with hotmelt and trimmed to size.

But there are those in the world who oppose our Creed. There are those who value Space and Organization above the wonder of typeset ideas. Some compromise by donating their unneeded books to good homes or libraries, which is an understandable decision. But some . . . some toss them carelessly to the side. As if they are . . . nothing! (Sob, gasp!)

Well, I am here as a safehouse. Just last night my husband erected four new four-foot shelves to hold the overflow. Now, most of these books that I so carefully placed in alphabetic order last night will not be with me forever. I am but a steward of them, seeing to their well-being until I find a good home for them, readers to devour their pages and write reviews for me. But oh, how I long to adopt them all!

In my quest to provide an island of safety for books of all kinds, I have developed several identities. I will answer to The Reviewer. The Librarian. The Bookworm. My keen ears can hear the phrase, “I need a new book to read” from a mile away, and my deft fingers will quickly pluck a selection from my shelves and deliver it to the friend or family member in need. It is not always an easy calling, but it is one I cannot ignore.

And we are training up another generation to take over our operations even now. As my itchy fingers dove into the box of books-awaiting-shelves the moment plywood touched brackets, my son and daughter were there beside me. Believing, hoping. And asking, “Mommy, do we get to keep all these books, or do we give them away?”

I caressed the spine of a novel just begging to be read. “These, sweetie, we’ll have to give away.”

A definite pout entered her tone. “But why, Mommy? Why can’t we keep them all?”

A question to bring tears to this Bookworm’s eyes. “Because, sweetie, other people need to read too. But don’t you worry. Though we send these out, new books will come in to take their places.”

I felt a little hand press against my leg. “I’ll help you Mommy. I’ll help you divide them. You just hand the non-fishing to me.” And she picked up a book with a cover that declared it non-fiction and put it in the pile for the lower shelf.

My chest swelled with pride. They’ll learn . . . and they’ll carry on. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.

We are Book Lovers.