Apparently, I am making a habit of
sending letters to famous people. OK, so two in two weeks is not
exactly a habit. Still, it's two more than I've probably ever sent in
my life.
For my second Risk Rejection, I sent a
letter to another author/speaker/minister/amazing woman asking her to
be my mentor. Very scary.
Yes, another actual
in-the-mailbox-with-a-stamp letter. Who does that anymore? But see,
the thing about famous people is, you can't get to their contact
information unless you're an NSA employee. Or know one really well.
So, what you get are agent's emails, booking people's emails, and
those stupid contact forms on websites that no one in the history of
websites ever looks at to see who has contacted them.
I did have her husband's email, but
that felt so . . . inappropriate. “Hey, hi there, how are you? I
don't actually want to talk to you because you're NOBODY but if you
could just forward this message to your wife since I know you don't mind
being her personal secretary . . .” No, just, not. So I opted for
the church address and pray that some assistant there doesn't recycle
it before the spit on the stamp is dry. (Oh wait, no one licks stamps
anymore, either. Wow, remember that?)
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Several months ago, a group leader asked me if I had a writing mentor. No, I hadn't really thought about that. I mean, writing is rather a solitary thing by nature. It's not a team sport. Which is good, because I kind of suck at team sports. But we were talking about goals and focus and reaching where I believe God has for me on this journey of writing, and he was right. That I could use some help with from someone who's been there.
So while in this season of RiskingRejection (which I hope lasts far longer than January), I realized
God was bringing it again to the front of my mind. (Things can sit on
my back burner for a looong time, chiefly because I forget they're
there and leave the stove on. It gets messy.) Not only that, but he
was telling me whom to ask. And I got scared. And humbled.
She is well known. She is about twelve
years younger than I am. She has done exactly what I am wanting to
do—leaving an established, safe writing audience and following God
into the deeper, scarier, unknown. Even down to helping with a church
plant, she is doing well what I want to do.
Not so long ago I don't think I could
have turned to someone that young and said, “You could teach me so
much. Would you please consider it?” I thought I had the answers.
Then, I went through a pruning season where a number of much younger
people taught me a lot I didn't know. A LOT. I realized I had wasted
many opportunities by allowing my insecurities to box me into a world
of “I'm not listening. I'm not listening.” If I don't listen, I
don't have to accept that I'm flawed and messed up and needy, and if
I don't accept that, I can carry on my neat little life as planned
without any scary alterations.
Yes. I can imagine God banging his head
on the table right now.
Life alters around us. We either learn
from it and change or we die. That's basic biology. Despite A's in
biology, I didn't grasp that.
Hence, this risk this week is twofold.
One, I'm asking something of someone who is an uber-busy successful
person who is very likely to turn me down simply based on that time
factor. But possibly also based on my own shortcomings as a
professional, and I'll have to deal with that. Two, I'm asking to learn from someone who, in another
context, I would be teaching. The funny thing is, I'm not bothered by
that anymore. I absolutely love it. I am dying to find out what
younger generations have to teach me.
Because the real risk? The real risk is
not learning all you can from everyone you can.
It's not opening
yourself to the possibilities that you can be taught by (and teach)
anyone, anywhere. It's believing the lie that you have to know all
the answers, or at least look like you do, in order to preserve the
mask of security. Heck, people in the Old Testament had to learn from
donkeys on occasion. Being schooled by thirty-something ladies seems
downright respectable after that.
So this Jesus thing is. . . a team
sport. Guess I'd better brush up on those stupid dribbling/passing
skills. I'm still bad at it. But I'm willing to learn.
Join us in risking this month? Big or small--anything is fair game. Please come along for the exciting ride over at Amy's place.
2 comments:
Can't wait to hear more about your risk. Pruning seasons hurt, but when I can finally get over myself I always see there were some valuable lessons there. Love this!
Brave. Brave. Brave. Love this. Cheering you on! x
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