Wrangler Dani

I’m a bit over-zealous in my expectations. The slightest bit of chill in the air appears right after Thanksgiving, and I’m already in the throes of Christmastide, revelling in hope of a best Christmas ever and cheer by the pound and sizzling punch upon the hob with dear ol’ Cratchit.

I expect to win every writing contest I enter, not because I think I’m that good, but because I’ve gotten so wound up about it that I can’t help but believe it will come true.

Yesterday I got rejection letter #Gagillion for some writing, and I wanted to cry and throw in the towel. I just want to ARRIVE, forget all this sweat and hard work crap. CAN’T THEY SEE THAT I’M GIFTED?!

Heh.

Unless this dream is not for me, I have to pick myself up and try again, edit again, write again. My last essay was not my last great work, but simply the last thing I wrote, which is probably NOT as awesome as I originally thought.

When I was in highschool, one of my first jobs was picking rocks. Yes, it’s as awful as it sounds. Walking along in a dusty, plowed hayfield behind a geriatric flatbed, throwing boulders the size of my head onto its wide expanse. The days were dusty, hazy with sweat and the above-my-head off-color jokes of much-older farmhands. I remember returning to the farmhouse at the end of a long day, stopping to wash my hands and seeing a old cross-stitch over the bathroom mirror. It was one of those homemade decorations with multiple encouraging thoughts, like “Love always” and “Laugh often”, but the last line has stuck with me: “Be cheerful even when you are weary”.

It sounds simple doesn’t it, a like a Hallmark injunction to hug more. But cheerfulness in hardship has never been my strong suit, nor has the handling of disappointment. A teenage girl doing man’s work is the definition of weary, and I took that little saying as an inspiration, my goal for the days to come.

I haven’t thought about that old cross-stitch in a long time, but I remembered it yesterday, as I held the rejection letter in my hand and felt hot tears well up, frustrated and weary beyond my ability to mask. “Be cheerful even when you are weary”.

I am weary in this crazy journey of self-employment. I’m scared to death of filing my own taxes, terrified of never actually reaching my goals, of suffering in the no-man’s-land of rejection letters and part-time gigs forever. I want to just BE EASIER, already. I don’t want to work on cheerfulness, on brave smiles and hopeful optimism.

But I know that I’m called to more than grumpy petulance and childish mood swings, even though it just feels so right, sometimes. I have to rise up, and manage my expectations and my reactions to imperfection, in myself and the world around me. I have to learn to be cheerful in weariness, loving in disappointment, hopeful in uncertain days.

Because it’s still January and I’m still allowed to make New Year-ish proclamations, I’m adopting Romans 12:9-13 as my inspiration and calling this year: “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”

Hold me to it, blog friends. This is the year of trusting Him instead of my own efforts. This is the year of clinging to what is good.