When I thought up the title for this post, my mind drifted immediately to my sweet hubby's hunting days. We were first engaged almost 27 years ago while still in college. He, a farm boy to my way of thinking, lived in a rural town on an acre of land. Hunting season was playtime in that part of East Texas and I'll never forget the weekend that Bubba (yep, I've always called my brother Bubba - no lie!) took sweet hubby out to shoot some dove.
The birds sat on the phone lines as they drove out to the land where they'd gained permission to shoot.
Cackles erupted up and down the wires as the would-be murderers approached the promised land.
Those were the only dove they saw the entire day. Not a flicker of a wing caught their attention. I think they would've unloaded on a Mockingbird (oh, horrors) if they'd been given half a chance, but none of them showed up either.
Finally, they trekked back to the car (My hubby was the farm boy, but suburban Bubba did the driving.) and Bubba opened the trunk to put away his gun.
The loud blasts of Sweet Hubby's rifle made Bubba bump his head on the lid and bolt around the car where Sweet Hubby reloaded.
Bubba scanned the skies and the ground, seeing nothing. "What in the world are you shooting at?"
"Skunk." Sweet Hubby pointed to a fence post some distance away where black and white fur blew in the light breeze. Bubba smiled and grabbed his weapon and the two of them unloaded like Black Ops on a mission into that poor fluffy carcass. That is, until the light breeze carried the legacy of the skunk close enough to bring out the tears.
I think Bubba sold that car the next week.
There is a point to this story, honest. I read a brief article by Jody Hedlund to encourage writers. She talked about how she encourages her kids to believe that they can do great works.
I do the same thing. I've taught my kids: "It's better to shoot for the stars and hit the moon than to shoot for a mud puddle and make it every time."
Let that sink in.
The fact is, if we only attempt things we know we'll be able to do, we have no challenge, no risk, and ultimately, no delight in the accomplishment. That mud puddle is within easy reach.
But when we attempt something beyond ourselves (and as a Christian, that should be a daily goal) where the chances of accomplishment are slim and none, then a huge victory is scored with the success. And even without the success, there is victory in the trying.
I'll admit, I felt a little sick several months back when I read that I had a better chance of being shot by terrorists than being published. Daunted even more because an expert in the field mentioned it. Yikes. I don't have a chance. Pack it up, there's no use wasting my precious time.
I felt the same way last night when I heard for the first time, "Start over." Praise the Lord it was just on a minor issue and not on my whole story, but it still tore a chunk out of my armor.
Then Sweet Hubby came to the rescue - my real-life hero - and reminded me that I hadn't chosen this path. God had laid such a love for writing and deep desire to make a difference for Him that I dare not ignore His call. He also suggested that no one ever said publishing was the end of my path. Everything I'm doing, everything I'm learning will be to His glory and for His purposes. I just don't know what those plans are yet.
So when all of the best efforts come up short as we writers take the next step into this world of publishing, may the Father encourage us. And when we get tired of attempting greatness only to have critique partners (lovingly and patiently) rip our creations to shreds, may we be thankful for wise counsel to avoid painful Amazon reviews. (Yes, I love every stinkin' one of you gals!!!)
And when we get tempted to unload on a skunk because our real goal has flown the coop, may the Lord protect that darn rodent by showing His new path.
What are you shooting at, both long-term and short-term?
