The Bittersweet Humility of Your Name on a Book

There’s a humility that comes from writing a book and seeing it published.

In 2011,  I worked hard for the launch of my first novella, “The Dogtrot Christmas,” which appeared in Barbour Publishing’s A Log Cabin Christmas Collection.

It felt like a dream come true and when it went on to make the New York Times October 2, 2011 best-seller’s list, I was simply stunned.

In the ten years since I turned in that manuscript, publishers published nine more books with my name somewhere on the cover.

The same bittersweet humility always turns up, however, when I hold a new volume for the first time.

Here’s why.

The Bittersweet Humility of a Published Book

Several years ago I sat in my rocking chair to “have it out with God.”  

I was tired of talking about writing and trying to write.

Was my desire to write from God, or was it something I only wished was from God?

I was willing to set it aside and do something else–getting a Ph.D. in American history was the fallback–if writing wasn’t something God wanted me to pursue.

I’d been reading about prayer and one book exhorted us to “dream big,” and “ask for the impossible.” We also were advised to scrub our hearts and desires to determine what we really wanted.

While I’m not a “name it and claim it,” Christian, I decided to ask for the one desire of my heart.

Was this about pride?

“Okay, Lord, I want to write a book.”

Ping. The light went on in my brain. I’d already written several (unpublished) books.

“Okay, Lord, I need to revise that. I want to publish a book that makes a difference in someone else’s life.”

(I don’t think God said this, but I laughed at myself–was that my second request?)

We don’t worship a genie God who waves His hands and gives us the desires of our hearts.

We worship a God who gave us gifts that He might be glorified through them. The honor and acclaim should be His, not ours.

That’s easy to say, but what does it really mean?

I needed to confront my reasons for wanting to write.

So what was the state of my heart? Why did I want to write a book?

I hate to admit it, but the real, honest truth, hidden deep in the recesses of my soul was, I want to prove a point.

Unfortunately, the people I most wanted to impress were dead.

Long dead and will never know I actually wrote or contributed to ten published books.

Mom’s sacrifices

My mother always expected me to amount to something–she put up with a lot to make sure I had a secure and happy childhood.

If I wanted to be a writer, she wanted to make sure I had the opportunity. I’m sorry she’ll never know my name appeared on the cover of  A Log Cabin Christmas Collection, A Pioneer Christmas Collection, Bridging Two Hearts, The Texas Brides Collection, The Treasured Brides Collection, The Twelve Brides of Christmas, The Twelve Brides of Summer, Utmost Ongoing, Mrs. Oswald Chambers, and A Poppy in Remembrance.

She lived long enough to see my name on the masthead of the UCLA Daily Bruin and read a copy of Military Lifestyles Magazine when I won the grand prize short story contest.

Mom saw the family biographies I wrote. She knew I was writing Pioneer Stock, but never learned it ended up in the Library of Congress, much less in genealogical libraries around the country.

I’m sorry, Mom, it took me so long.

What do you have to write about?

My aunt gave me a Webster’s Dictionary for my tenth birthday.

I loved words even then and still own the old age-spotted and brown-paged book.

She asked once what I planned to do when I graduated from college.

“I want to write.”

 “Really? What do you have to write about?” 

I stood up straight and proud. “My thoughts and stories.”

She sniffed.

Aunt Rosie lived long enough to read Travels with Jeanette, a story I wrote about touring Europe with my mother.

Not published, but complete. She liked it because it brought my mother alive again.

Aunt Arly read Travels with Jeanette as well, and liked the parts about my mother but wanted me to write a mystery next.

They’re all gone now, and never held my books in their hands.

So, what else was I trying to prove?

I spent twenty years following my husband around the world, raising our children in a variety of locales, teaching Bible study, and doing little professional work.

Unlike my children’s godmothers, I did not hold a job. To publish a novel would demonstrate all my fine IQ points were not wasted on raising children.

Except I know, as many of you know, that I didn’t waste all those years.

I raised children, made a home, taught Bible study. I worked at pregnancy counseling centers and as a Navy Relief budget counselor. 

The boy scouts loved me, and so did many teachers in eleven schools at six different districts.

I know.

You know.

But I didn’t feel accomplished.

What is the pinnacle of my life?

After that day spent praying, I knew there was no point in God answering the desire of my heart to be published if I thought being published would be the pinnacle of my life. I needed to recognize

I have worth in God’s eyes beyond what I can produce.  Click to Tweet

Intellectually, I understood completely. Emotionally, I struggled.

When A Log Cabin Christmas arrived, I held the first book in my hands and looked at the green embossed title, my own name in small letters on the bottom line.

I flipped through the pages and marveled at seeing words I typed on this computer, printed into a book.

It felt humbling and marvelous.

It reminded me of holding a new baby: the joy, the awe, the wonder.

But you know what?

A baby is more valuable than a book. Click to Tweet

I am honored, now, to have ten books with my name on the cover lining my shelf.

I wish my parents and my aunts had lived to see it.

But more importantly, I know my parents and my aunts lived long enough to see my four children and my happy marriage.

They thought I was a success, even then.

Thanks be to God.

What defines success in your life?