It’s a quiet start to 2017 on this frontier. Just me, my laptop on a nice little breakfast tray in bed, “A Year in the Life” of Gilmore Girls, my pj’s… and my thoughts.
I ended 2016 doing something that, for me, was hard and looked impossible. I was discouraged before I began, yet beyond surprised with the results. In fact, the results were so good, it’s inspired me to do something that looks intimidating and impossible this year just to see how it turns out!
What did I do? I lost weight.
With no back story, that statement is no big deal. If I went into the entire ugly ordeal, one might better understand why this is so huge for me. To summarize: since I was 19, I’ve had an awful thyroid, to the point where I actually had doctors tell me, “You won’t ever lose weight again. Just deal with it.” Two international moves and three kids later, I had convinced myself they were correct. I have watched the scale teeter but ultimately stay put for more than 10 years.
In September, I was depressed and annoyed with my metabolism. I vented to my sister and she told me about a book she thought I should read. I read it. It changed my life. Three months later, I’m down nearly 20 pounds and a crazy amount of inches that I wish I had documented!
I did what I thought was impossible. I lost weight. I look in the mirror and smile for the first time in about 12 years. I asked my daughter to take my picture this morning and – get this – I did not delete it! I’m telling you, if I can do this, I can now do anything.
It feels as if I’ve jumped a giant hurdle. It’s been inspiring. I was so adamantly opposed to dieting and I dreaded the idea of “healthy eating” because that has always equaled “vegetables,” “ew,” and way too much math. But, it’s not been like that – at all. It got me thinking: if that wasn’t so bad, maybe some of the other things that I’ve been wanting, needing, to do won’t be so bad either.
The biggest on my list has to do with my writing.
I have wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl. Just this week, I pulled out the first book I ever wrote. I was 11. I wrote a mystery, in near-perfect cursive, in a pink, spiral-bound notebook, complete with an illustrated cover, a table of contents, and little pictures on the chapter headings. I even did a dedication and an “about the author” at the end. So embarrassing! Yet, my 6 year old adores it!
I would really like to do more than just blog and hang onto a “book” from my childhood. I write for our missions magazine, but that’s really about it. I have projects in my mind and unfinished works on my hard drive. I have an underlined, circled, and dog-eared copy of the Christian Writer’s Guide on my end table. And I have done nothing with any of it.
I’m terrified of rejection. Writing is so much a part of me, I get nauseous thinking of someone tearing my heart apart and analyzing it from their own point of view, which might differ from mine, not understanding my POV or writing style and slashing hours of work to pieces. It sounds more appalling than exhilarating! So, I stall. I don’t write. I make excuses and find other things to do with my time, all the while knowing that this is something God has asked me to do and I need to do it.
In February, I do something super hard for me. I get on a plane, alone, and fly to Houston for a one-day conference with Beth Moore specifically on writing, teaching, and speaking as a ministry. I get sick on planes. I miss my family. I’ve never been to Houston. Totally, completely, and utterly out of my comfort zone. I am sick to my stomach thinking about this trip, yet every time I re-read the description of the event, I float because I remember I got in. I’m going.
My immediate “hard things” of 2017, then, are: finishing losing this horrid weight and find the “me” that’s been literally buried for almost 15 years, fly to Houston and attend a crazy huge conference on my own, and begin writing more diligently and actually sending manuscripts off to… somebody.
I enter 2017 hopeful yet filled with total fear and trepidation. I know what God has asked of me in previous years and once again, I feel like I’m standing on a precipice. He’s pushing me towards the edge and I know that very soon, I’m going to be asked to leap, not knowing if I’m jumping to the other side or to a ledge I haven’t even seen yet. For now, I prep. And wait.