I want to share a God-thing with you.
Two weeks after Mt. Hermon last year, I wrote a post called “The Fridge Door of the Soul,” which contained these words:
“(I found this key) in my pocket when passing through the metal detector at the airport after my writer’s conference. Oops. It’s the key to my room, the key I forgot to turn in before checking out two weeks ago. The thing’s been sitting on my bed night stand making me feel guilty until just this morning. Now it’s a symbol of hope, almost too good to be true.
I’ve been going to the Mount Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference for three years running. The first year I left shattered, realizing I had a lot of learning and improving to do before I could even hope to get into the position to get published. The second year I left deflated, knowing I’d made progress but unsure of how much and what to do with that. This year I left encouraged, affirmed in my craft and seeing the path ahead more clearly than ever before. I know what I need to work on, and I’m determined to fix it. I made some wonderful connections and by the time I boarded my plane I sensed in my spirit, “This year is different. This is a turning point.” And I had this mysterious key.
The key to the Conference, I sense God saying to me this morning.
What does this mean? Not sure yet. Does it mean next year I’ll break into conventional publishing world? Is it about my heart more than the results? Does it mean I’m finally understanding how to make the most of the Conference? Hmmmm. I’ll have to pray about that today.”
I brought the key with me this year, intending to give it back by the end of the Conference. I kept it tucked away in my left front jean pocket as a tactile symbol of my faith that God had spoken to me, that this year would be different because God said so. Throughout the week, I’ve reached down to touch the thing dozens of times, saying a prayer each time. “God, I trust you. This year is my year.”
Well, praise God, the key was “real.” What it symbolized was true. I got five “hits” on my manuscript this week—three editors, two agents who want to see my work and love my idea. Even more incredible, one of those editors wants to bring my proposal to the editorial review committee for his Publishing House. I’m in shock. My heart is warmed by a growing sense that I’m on the verge of something big. I don’t want to get drunk on the Kool-aid of presumption, so I’m keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus. Walking with him in prayer into the potential future and inviting him to take care of it for me.
And jumping up and down with blubbering joy. Jesus, wow. Thank you.
You know what’s funny? Sometime yesterday, the key disappeared. I can’t find it anywhere. Not under the bed, beside the sink, nowhere.
I think that’s at least partly because it’s done it’s job.