No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in world’s storm-troubled sphere.
I see Heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal,
arming me from fear.
I wish I could say that I always share dear Emily’s indomitable confidence, but the truth is, fear is a foe I have to take arms against every single day, and never more so than when I sit down at my desk to write. Last week, for the first time since the end of February, I put new words on my book. Life has been full–richly and intensely–but it wasn’t the busyness that was keeping me from picking up the threads of Story once more so much as the awful resistance of my own apprehensions. It’s always such a miracle to find the grace of words waiting patiently on the other side of that mountain.
I’m writing over at The Rabbit Room today, on art and fear and how faith works on this cowardly soul of mine:
Fear. The giant Apollyon that halts me in my tracks and sneers down all my hopes and aspirations. The paralyzing dread of failure; the horror of being misunderstood that stifles my voice and freezes my fingers above the keyboard. Fear of man’s opinion. Fear that when I open my heart’s treasures to the world, the world will be unkind and trample them underfoot. That morning I felt ill at the thought—I often do. But that’s exactly what it is: a feeling. My desire to write, to communicate and create, is not a feeling but a God-given passion; a relentless yearning that, quite frankly, at some times I rather wish would lie still, but in sublimer moments overspreads my life with the gilt and purple of love’s ambition.
If you care to read on, you can find the rest of the article here:
And thank you, a thousand times over, for reading and caring and praying. Thank you for letting me throw my cap over the fence and thank you for making me brave by your gracious words–I’ve cherished them all. Heaven bless you for it.