I went to my first writer's conference this weekend. I'm not actually going to write about the conference though. It just helps me set up a point.
And the point? I'm getting there. Give me a paragraph or two.
I was an edgy, nervous wreck the whole week leading up to the conference. Somehow I had it in my head that my whole writing career (or the dream thereof) would be decided in that one weekend. Stupid, I know, but that's how I felt. In the days leading up to it, I asked numerous friends to pray for me. Here's what makes my friends so great: They actually did.
Come Friday morning, there's me, a nervous wreck, jetting out of work early to make my way to what I knew would be the most painful weekend of my life. I'm a pretty shy guy, and the thought of spending a weekend with a bunch of people I don't know, several of whom hold the power to publish in their hands, didn't fill me with joy. When I left work, I'm fairly certain several of my coworkers thought I was leaving to dodge a mofia hit, such was the nature of my distress. A funny thing happened on the drive over. The closer I got, the calmer I got. By the time I was interviewing (or pitching or... whatever you call it when you try to sell your work), I felt completely calm. The feeling lasted the whole weekend.
I know it would be easy to say that I just calmed down when I got there because the conference was no longer an unknown fear. Instead of my mental pictures of the conference, I was there, and the real one was less frightening than the imaginary one. But that doesn't wash with me. I don't calm down in the face of dozens of strangers. I lock up. I get really quite, find a corner, and stay there until it's safe to leave.
Which brings me and any reader patient enough to get this far, to my point: Prayer works in ways that you'd never expect. Often times, God's response is so subtle that it's tempting to think that He didn't respond at all.
And the point? I'm getting there. Give me a paragraph or two.
I was an edgy, nervous wreck the whole week leading up to the conference. Somehow I had it in my head that my whole writing career (or the dream thereof) would be decided in that one weekend. Stupid, I know, but that's how I felt. In the days leading up to it, I asked numerous friends to pray for me. Here's what makes my friends so great: They actually did.
Come Friday morning, there's me, a nervous wreck, jetting out of work early to make my way to what I knew would be the most painful weekend of my life. I'm a pretty shy guy, and the thought of spending a weekend with a bunch of people I don't know, several of whom hold the power to publish in their hands, didn't fill me with joy. When I left work, I'm fairly certain several of my coworkers thought I was leaving to dodge a mofia hit, such was the nature of my distress. A funny thing happened on the drive over. The closer I got, the calmer I got. By the time I was interviewing (or pitching or... whatever you call it when you try to sell your work), I felt completely calm. The feeling lasted the whole weekend.
I know it would be easy to say that I just calmed down when I got there because the conference was no longer an unknown fear. Instead of my mental pictures of the conference, I was there, and the real one was less frightening than the imaginary one. But that doesn't wash with me. I don't calm down in the face of dozens of strangers. I lock up. I get really quite, find a corner, and stay there until it's safe to leave.
Which brings me and any reader patient enough to get this far, to my point: Prayer works in ways that you'd never expect. Often times, God's response is so subtle that it's tempting to think that He didn't respond at all.
Comments
By the way, "matriarchial prayer warriors" is one heck of a sweet phrase.