Every now then I veer off of the freeway of sarcasm and inappropriate humor I drive most days, and take a much needed detour down emotional lane. This post, my inaugural for the new year, is my first pit stop on the sentimental side street. I hope you enjoy...
It was almost exactly a year ago that a good portion of my prayer life was dedicated to asking the BIG GUY for someone (AN AGENT!) to take me seriously. You know...just give me and my peculiar book a chance. Six months later...I got an agent. WAHOO! Thanks, God!
This morning I was feeling much the way I did a year ago except that the request to the you know who had changed. This morning I prayed that someone (AN EDITOR!) would take me AND my agent seriously. (Calm down, Kitten--no news to report). On days like this, when I feel like the last author in the world an editor would be willing to take a leap of faith with, I'm reminded of one very important four-letter word: HOPE!
You see, the beauty of HOPE is that it strikes you when you're at your lowest point and quite often through unconventional means. Here's how the HOPE bug big me today:
On December 24th (Yeah, the DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS) my darling 9 year-old decided to write Santa a letter. (Apparently I wasn't supposed to read it, though she left it out on the hutch in the living room--um, FREE GAME, TOOTS!) Anyway, I got the Aww...lump in my throat as we moms do, and then I read the inside:
(I cannot tell you how many times we've told my daughter that she cannot get a trampoline, but I assure you it's well into the double-digits.)
My husband and I chuckled about this card, both enjoying what could very well be her last Christmas believing in the white bearded man from up North, and then we actually discussed her request. After surprisingly short deliberation, we decided this actually could be a good investment for us and that both our kids would get a lot of use out of it. (Not Christmas of 2011, obviously, but perhaps an Easter gift purchased off of Craig's List)
At any rate, my kiddo never lost HOPE. She was the dog under the dining table just waiting for a scrap. And you know what...she got it! A piece of macaroni fell on the floor. (Or in this case, a used trampoline that will probably need new springs).
She never gave up--she just kept hoping. After finding this letter in my dresser drawer, right next to her letter demanding more money from the Tooth Fairy, I realized that I cannot give up on HOPE. It's all I've got left.
(Side note: I had a trampoline as a kid. Our hesitation in buying one was not because we are wicked, evil parents who like to stifle our children of exercise and a good time, but because we didn't think she would use it. If we are guilty of anything--it's practicality.)