Sent

Can you lay hands on an e-mail?

I did.

My fingers left prints. Colored pixels flickered on and off as I put mild pressure on the screen. I couldn't even form words to describe what roiled inside me. 

"This is Yours," was all I could really manage.

My e-mail contained a single document and a small message, both of great importance. The document: my completed manuscript. The message: to the publisher of Marcher Lord Press.

I've awaited this day for almost two years--the day he first requested my manuscript. My novel, A Time to Die, was only at 30,000 words at that time. Today it's complete at 140,000. I fought the pressure to rush my writing. I held onto faith that God held my book near His heart more firmly than I did. I had to believe the publisher would still be interested in my novel even if I didn't finish it for a couple years.

God is faithful. God is patient. God is encouraging. 

 

Now that it's sent, I don't have expectations. Yes, there's hope, but any steps that follow this are gifts. There's always hope when God monograms your life with miracles.

The process of writing a book is unexplainably unique. I've learned more about someone's thinking than the rules of writing. I've seen God tie ends I didn't know I opened. I've grown to respect a publishing company like a close friend. I've seen how a publisher with passion can meet a need others are ignoring. I've learned my husband can have as much zeal for my writing as I do. 

I'm thrilled to grow. I'm ecstatic to learn. I'm even excited to wait. The more red-pen scribbling across my life (and manuscript) the better. My goal is not publication. My goal is glorification of my Lord.

So, with a deep breath, I wait. It is sent. I am sent. Can't wait to find out where.

Hole Shot Tour

Fifty racers stripped down to their customized, padded, skin-tight racing clothes, chatted with their coaches, met with their racing friends, and analyzed the course like it was a particularly tasty burger.

I sat alone in floppy torn snowpants purchased nine years ago, strapping in to a board even older than that. No coach. No racer buddies. Just staring at the intro jump a good three feet taller than me.

When I slid into the start gate, I wasn't hit with the arm-shaking nerves I got during my first race at Raging Buffalo, but my heart belly-flopped into my stomach when I pulled myself out of it and launched over the jump. 

(this is not me, just a few guy boarders to give you a taste for the start gate)

Today was training day: an extra optional day for racers to board (or ski) the course early. Snowboarders had from 12:15 to 2:00. To the professional eye, I looked like a beginner my first time slipping the course. I lost my balance, I lost my edge on the particularly icy portions, and I muttered like a maniac the whole way down about how intense the course was.

On my way back up, determined to climb back on the horse (or should I say dragon?), feeling coachless and inept, I remembered who my coach is. He's not a human coach, but a coach who can command the mountain to adjust beneath my board if He wants.

The course went better. I started anticipating the launch of the jumps and the lengths of the gaps. I understood the iciness of the snow and roughness of the landings.

I'm in the hotel now, counting the bruises and wondering if I'm allowed to stuff a pillow over my tailbone for tomorrow's training. I've yet to completely board the course without slowing down. Most of today's training tried to tackle my lack-of-confidence. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine the course and how I'll dominate it tomorrow...with my Coach. He's the one who decides what "dominating" will look like. Even if it's last place, I'm following His commands...and it's the best instruction I'll ever receive.



(to read further updates on my snowboarding ventures, follow my snowboarding blog!)
(to understand what in the world this snowboarding venture is, read my post, Bucket List Olympian)