It was 4am. I was exhausted. One would think I would be well-rested given that I was sleeping in a hotel room all by myself. Not so. I had come from the most amazing conference but was on information overload. I needed sleep. But I couldn't. I kept being nudged.
Write this down.
I'll do it later.
Write it down.
I'll remember in the morning.
No. Seriously. Write this down.
I will just repeat it over and over in my head until I fall asleep. That way I won't forget in the morning.
Here's the deal, you aren't going to sleep until you WRITE THIS DOWN.
UGH. Fine.
I rolled over and picked up my phone. Anytime I have an idea that I need to write down I text myself. I turned on my phone. The screen was so bright I could barely focus. I found my texts to myself (Under the name, "Bananas Poop Your Head." Thank you, third child) and I wrote the words, "Glossy prints and toddler scribbles."
Finally. I can sleep.
I walked into this conference with no expectations. A couple of friends have told me to go over the years and I finally said yes. I had no idea what I was walking into and didn't really think I needed it. Of course, I was wrong. One is always wrong when they go about something this way.
The first day and a half of the conference was great. Very informative and encouraging. I felt fed. Then came the meet-up time. I walked into the room after getting coffee and everyone was circled up around tables. There were labels on each table and everyone was focused on one another in what seemed like intense conversation. I decided to grab the rest of my things and find a quiet place to write so I wouldn't disturb anyone. I went to the table to sneakily grab my stuff and that's when my friend spotted me. She was adamant that I park it at the table. I had every excuse. There was no room. They already started without me. I needed some time to decompress. But she wouldn't let me leave.
So, there I was that awkward person who clumsily pulled up the chair making a spectical of herself to join this group. Of course I was immediately put on the spot and had to introduce myself. Fine. I can deal with a little introduction. Then, the ladies started passing around their information. Along came these glossy one sheets with professional head shots and a short synopsis of their book proposal along with their business cards. And there I sat. Holding my Word document.
I felt about two inches tall. I felt totally inadequate. I felt like I had made a HUGE mistake chasing this dream. I felt, quite frankly, like a fool. I didn't have a glossy one sheet or a business card. All I had was a file folder that contained a Word document. I thought these words were precious jewels but they felt worthless in my hands. I spent the rest of the day knowing I needed every second, but trying with all my might to hold the tears back. "What a sham I was" is all I could think.
I finished that day at the conference and went back to my hotel room totally spent. I had a meeting with a publisher in the morning that I knew I needed to cancel. I was a sham, remember. No glossy one sheet or business card for this girl. I also needed a good hair washing but didn't have the time nor did I bring the proper tools to tame the beast that is my hair. So, canceling seemed the only logical thing to do. I mean, when you don't have the professional stuff AND your hair is beyond dirty, it may be time to throw in the towel.
And then God woke me up at 4am.
He had that little conversation with me about the Word document in the middle of the night. He forced me to text myself about glossy sheets and toddler scribbles and gave me a vision. Look, I am not the girl who gets visions from God. I used to think people who raised their hands in church were creepy. Just so you know where I am coming from and how big a deal this whole vision thing was.
At 4am I heard God telling me that I don't do what I do for the glossy one sheets. I do what I do for the people; for the reader. I had a vision of my youngest when he was a toddler bringing me a piece of paper with scribbles on it. You couldn't make out the picture but you best believe that sucker was hung on the side of the fridge like the masterpiece that it was. This is how I see you, dear reader. You bring me your lives all scribbled out on a piece of paper and I pray that after you read the words in this little space in our world, you walk away feeling like those scribbles are a masterpiece; because that's exactly what they are. Your life, even though it may look like toddler scribbles, is a masterpiece.
That is this space. We may not be a well-put-together glossy one sheet. But, man, that Word document we bring to the table is a jewel.
I went to that publishing meeting. She was running a bit behind so I had some time to sit and reflect. A friend I met in that overwhelming meeting-of-the-minds sat next to me. She said she felt like she needed to tell me that she loved and appreciated my tenderness. She must have been referring to the moment I completely lost my junk and hugged and stranger after what she said slayed my soul. I needed that word, though. Because this space is all about tenderness. The words of my new friend gave me just enough courage to walk into that meeting.
I walked into the meeting with my tattered Word document and set it down. I told her this is all I have; that I didn't have a pretty paper to hand her. I proceeded to let the publisher know that I almost canceled the meeting because of this. I told her that what held me to the meeting was you; I brought her our toddler scribbles, that Word document. The masterpiece is in your stories and your lives. I was there for you.
I walked back into the conference after my meeting, which turned out much more encouraging and successful than I had hoped, and sat down. Another publisher was giving a talk on writing. She had just started her part showing some slides. When I walked in and sat down the slide on the screen was a picture of a journal she had when she was little. Inside were scribbles. I mean, c'mon. What are the odds that I walk in at the exact same time a slide of scribbles was shown? Only God. Those were her first stories, she shared. Her mom told her she would scribble in her journal and then come tell her mom her stories based on her "writing." They were her masterpiece at the very beginning of her story.
I will never be a glossy one sheet gal. I may have to create one for the business but that's not why I am here. I am here because I tenderly take your scribbles and pray I return them a masterpiece. You are my why. I want to be a voice for women letting them know that there is value in the scribbles. There is worth in the mess. There is hope in the confusion. When I see your scribbles, I see a masterpiece and you better believe I am posting that on the fridge for all the world to see.
Love & Blessings,
Meg
Write this down.
I'll do it later.
Write it down.
I'll remember in the morning.
No. Seriously. Write this down.
I will just repeat it over and over in my head until I fall asleep. That way I won't forget in the morning.
Here's the deal, you aren't going to sleep until you WRITE THIS DOWN.
UGH. Fine.
I rolled over and picked up my phone. Anytime I have an idea that I need to write down I text myself. I turned on my phone. The screen was so bright I could barely focus. I found my texts to myself (Under the name, "Bananas Poop Your Head." Thank you, third child) and I wrote the words, "Glossy prints and toddler scribbles."
Finally. I can sleep.
I walked into this conference with no expectations. A couple of friends have told me to go over the years and I finally said yes. I had no idea what I was walking into and didn't really think I needed it. Of course, I was wrong. One is always wrong when they go about something this way.
The first day and a half of the conference was great. Very informative and encouraging. I felt fed. Then came the meet-up time. I walked into the room after getting coffee and everyone was circled up around tables. There were labels on each table and everyone was focused on one another in what seemed like intense conversation. I decided to grab the rest of my things and find a quiet place to write so I wouldn't disturb anyone. I went to the table to sneakily grab my stuff and that's when my friend spotted me. She was adamant that I park it at the table. I had every excuse. There was no room. They already started without me. I needed some time to decompress. But she wouldn't let me leave.
So, there I was that awkward person who clumsily pulled up the chair making a spectical of herself to join this group. Of course I was immediately put on the spot and had to introduce myself. Fine. I can deal with a little introduction. Then, the ladies started passing around their information. Along came these glossy one sheets with professional head shots and a short synopsis of their book proposal along with their business cards. And there I sat. Holding my Word document.
I felt about two inches tall. I felt totally inadequate. I felt like I had made a HUGE mistake chasing this dream. I felt, quite frankly, like a fool. I didn't have a glossy one sheet or a business card. All I had was a file folder that contained a Word document. I thought these words were precious jewels but they felt worthless in my hands. I spent the rest of the day knowing I needed every second, but trying with all my might to hold the tears back. "What a sham I was" is all I could think.
I finished that day at the conference and went back to my hotel room totally spent. I had a meeting with a publisher in the morning that I knew I needed to cancel. I was a sham, remember. No glossy one sheet or business card for this girl. I also needed a good hair washing but didn't have the time nor did I bring the proper tools to tame the beast that is my hair. So, canceling seemed the only logical thing to do. I mean, when you don't have the professional stuff AND your hair is beyond dirty, it may be time to throw in the towel.
And then God woke me up at 4am.
He had that little conversation with me about the Word document in the middle of the night. He forced me to text myself about glossy sheets and toddler scribbles and gave me a vision. Look, I am not the girl who gets visions from God. I used to think people who raised their hands in church were creepy. Just so you know where I am coming from and how big a deal this whole vision thing was.
At 4am I heard God telling me that I don't do what I do for the glossy one sheets. I do what I do for the people; for the reader. I had a vision of my youngest when he was a toddler bringing me a piece of paper with scribbles on it. You couldn't make out the picture but you best believe that sucker was hung on the side of the fridge like the masterpiece that it was. This is how I see you, dear reader. You bring me your lives all scribbled out on a piece of paper and I pray that after you read the words in this little space in our world, you walk away feeling like those scribbles are a masterpiece; because that's exactly what they are. Your life, even though it may look like toddler scribbles, is a masterpiece.
That is this space. We may not be a well-put-together glossy one sheet. But, man, that Word document we bring to the table is a jewel.
I went to that publishing meeting. She was running a bit behind so I had some time to sit and reflect. A friend I met in that overwhelming meeting-of-the-minds sat next to me. She said she felt like she needed to tell me that she loved and appreciated my tenderness. She must have been referring to the moment I completely lost my junk and hugged and stranger after what she said slayed my soul. I needed that word, though. Because this space is all about tenderness. The words of my new friend gave me just enough courage to walk into that meeting.
I walked into the meeting with my tattered Word document and set it down. I told her this is all I have; that I didn't have a pretty paper to hand her. I proceeded to let the publisher know that I almost canceled the meeting because of this. I told her that what held me to the meeting was you; I brought her our toddler scribbles, that Word document. The masterpiece is in your stories and your lives. I was there for you.
I walked back into the conference after my meeting, which turned out much more encouraging and successful than I had hoped, and sat down. Another publisher was giving a talk on writing. She had just started her part showing some slides. When I walked in and sat down the slide on the screen was a picture of a journal she had when she was little. Inside were scribbles. I mean, c'mon. What are the odds that I walk in at the exact same time a slide of scribbles was shown? Only God. Those were her first stories, she shared. Her mom told her she would scribble in her journal and then come tell her mom her stories based on her "writing." They were her masterpiece at the very beginning of her story.
I will never be a glossy one sheet gal. I may have to create one for the business but that's not why I am here. I am here because I tenderly take your scribbles and pray I return them a masterpiece. You are my why. I want to be a voice for women letting them know that there is value in the scribbles. There is worth in the mess. There is hope in the confusion. When I see your scribbles, I see a masterpiece and you better believe I am posting that on the fridge for all the world to see.
Love & Blessings,
Meg
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