A Prayer for the Writer on Publication Day

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A Prayer for the Writer on Publication Day

The more writers I befriend, the more I realize how exposed and fearful we feel on the day our content is published. It's incredibly vulnerable to put your voice out into the world, and we need extra prayers on those days, whether we’ve posted a blog post, shared thoughts on a podcast, released a book or product, or spoken to a group.

So, writer friends, this prayer is written for you, and especially for the precious friends in my writing group. (HI, PALS!) You can download a copy to keep saved on your phone or desktop by clicking here or just saving the image below. It may be a good addition to your publication day process. I hope that it offers perspective and encouragement to you on publication day as you bravely surrender the words you’ve been given.

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A Prayer for Those Who Hurt on Sundays

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A Prayer for Those Who Hurt on Sundays

“Easy like Sunday morning” are lyrics that can grate. Not because it’s hilariously difficult to get everyone ready and into the car on a Sunday (it is!) but because of something much deeper. Because church, for some, is a place of deep loneliness. Of profound wounds. Of rejection. Of distrust. Of having to stand next to offenders and hear their voices proclaim worship. Of realizing your own role as an offender and having to encounter those you’ve hurt.

Once, in a room full of people, we were asked the question, “Is it easy to love the Church?” Everyone around me nodded quickly and happily, saying, “ Yes! We love our church!” My jaw dropped.

This is not my experience. I am bloody from my attempts to love the Church.

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The Pastor's Wife

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The Pastor's Wife

“Your husband is in seminary. What would he think about what you’ve done?”

I was 21, and these words shattered my heart. They have become a haunting soundtrack to some of my darkest days, and their rhythm has sometimes been hard to escape. It was the first time my husband’s position had been used as a weapon against me. It would not be the last.

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There Are No Small Ways to Love Someone

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There Are No Small Ways to Love Someone

When I told a friend that Granddaddy had died, she said she was making us dinner and that she’d drop it on the porch later. Normally I say something like, “Oh you don’t have to do that! We’ll be fine! You are so sweet!” But I just couldn’t think. I couldn’t summon the energy to turn it down, so I said a teary “thank you” and kept on parenting, poorly, kept on cleaning, clumsily, kept on stopping every hour or so to bury my face in my hands and cry. When I grabbed the package off the doorstep later that afternoon, I saw chili and cornbread muffins and coloring books for the kids, and I sobbed. The kids colored, and we ate a dinner that I didn’t have to make, and it fed deeper than physical hunger because each bite was a reminder of someone who saw me, who loved me, who was going to make sure I was taken care of that day. I knew my friend thought this was something small, but to me, it wasn’t.

It’s not small to make dinner for your struggling friend.

It’s not small to get a sitter so you can go to her granddad’s visitation or funeral.

It’s not small for you to remember that Granddaddy had the same birthday as Adelaide or his American flag cane or that you saw him a million times at our church growing up and that he was always kind. 

It’s not small at all. Not to me.

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The Village: Daydreams of a Stay At Home Mom

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The Village: Daydreams of a Stay At Home Mom

We all hear that “it takes a village”—and what a quaint little saying that is—but Y’ALL, WHERE IS THIS VILLAGE?! Because even if your family lives in town and you have awesome friends, there are those days when, desperate for interaction, you attempt to summon the village. To call or text a friend for a stroll or a family member for help but OH NO TODDLER IS SCREAMING BECAUSE SHE REMEMBERED THE EXISTENCE OF OVEN MITTS AND WHY ISN’T SHE WEARING THEM, MOTHER, WHY?!? So you give her the worn yellow oven mitts and then, wait, what were you doing? Oh yes, sending that SOS text, but oh wait, baby is like HEY GIRL I AM FURIOUS THAT I HAVE A DIRTY DIAPER AND I WILL NEVER GET OVER IT EVER, so you quickly change the diaper. Mid-change, Toddler realizes it is HILARIOUS to pour the milk on the kilim rug WHY DO WE HAVE A KILIM RUG WHO ARE WE KIDDING HERE, INSTAGRAM, WE SHOULD ONLY OWN THINGS MADE OUT OF PLASTIC SO THEY CAN BE HOSED DOWN (jk it was free from my grandmother, but still) and wait wait, what were we doing? OH YES, sending text. But hold up, THE OVEN MITTS HAVE FALLEN OFF BECAUSE OF THE MILK SPILLING AND TODDLER WILL SCREAM FROM THE ROOFTOPS HOW VERY UNCOOL THIS IS! You make a mental note to re-read that article on Pinterest about techniques for toddler discipline but naturally you forget and also who cares.

It kind of goes like that for a while.

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