Tell me I can’t

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This month we’re talking about a contest I’ve entered. A fiction contest with the prize being a publishing opportunity in a book. A real book. With chapters, and contributors, and a royalty check. Not that I’m in it for the money. Cause I could really care less about that part. You should know that about me by now.

Anyway.

As I contemplate this season of anticipation. Of waiting to see whether the chips are going to fall in my favor or not. Of whether I really understood that not so gentle tug on my heart to put a bunch of made up words together into a somewhat coherent story line.

All I can do is think back to the last time I challenged God to put up or shut up. The last opportunity I had to stand on a rather precarious perch and announce that God was about to do something big.

That day I walked in front of a Russian judge and dared her to say no to God’s plan for my son.

You know how that story ended. The proof is here for you to read.

When I stepped in front of that judge on that cold November morning over two years ago, I knew in my heart that God had made a promise. Max was already my son. All I had to do was jump through the proper bureaucratic hoops to make the Russians know I wasn’t kidding about claiming him as my own.  

And today I stand on another precarious perch and tap hesitantly on my mic to see if anyone can hear me. Is this thing on? Because my God is about to do something big, and He wants you to be in the front row to see the whole thing.

So pull up a chair already. 

Here  I am. Not only am I about to win this dang contest, but I’m about to plop myself into a new job description. I’ma take that whole industry by storm. Just you watch. 

Not because I’ve always wanted to be a published author. Not because I’ve daydreamed about it since I was little and wished upon a star and all that crap. Because it’s mostly the opposite of that. Obviously.

This is the story of Mama who used to be totally happy wasting her days away in her beloved garden, taking way too many pictures of her precious children. A Mama who was dragged kicking and screaming into a roll that’s bigger than herself, her camera, and her garden. A Mama who’s willing to look like a big doofus by making a rather ridiculous claim on victory well before the winners are announced because her God made a promise. And she believed it.

But.

I do need votes.

Here’s that link again.
Leave a comment voting for #2 (me!) and #7 (my writing buddy Suzanne)
or you can send an email to the host: 
thequestfortruthbooks (a) gmail (dot) com

Just you wait. God’s going to do something big. BIG I tell you.

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