The deep disappointment I feel weighs greatly on me at this moment. A contest that I pinned such hope has rejected my work today. I shutter at the recommendations that will be sent in the next few months. The thought of their cruel but objective comments leave me full of trepidation. To add insult to injury I also received an agency rejection. Although polite and encouraging, a “no thanks” is a “no thanks.”
But then a friend posted something that gave me hope: “God’s ‘no’ is not a rejection, but a redirection.” I took great comfort in that. Then another writer friend sent this:
But then a friend posted something that gave me hope: “God’s ‘no’ is not a rejection, but a redirection.” I took great comfort in that. Then another writer friend sent this:
“If you believe in God (and I do) you must declare Resistance evil, for it prevents us from achieving the life God intended when he endowed each of us with our own unique genius.
Genius is a Latin work; the Romans used it to denote an inner spirit, holy and inviolable, which watches over us, guiding us to our calling. A writer writes with his genius; an artist paints with hers; everyone who creates operates from this sacramental center. It is our soul’s seat, the vessel that holds our being-in-potential, our star’s beacon and Polaris.”
Although I’m deeply troubled this moment by my failure to become the writer I dreamed of being, it appears that others by some divine intuition felt driven to post those words of comfort. Neither knew of my disappointment and feelings of failure. Now I must heed those words. The writer’s voice inside me urges me to silence my self doubt. I can’t stop. I just can’t.