I don’t know what to do.

I pace in my cozy, blue-walled bedroom. It’s just after 8am and I’m not ready to go anywhere. I have an itinerary that I’m trying to forget right now.

Where are my winter socks? It’s 30°C outside and this is a fairly warm house, but I want my socks. I walk to the drawer below my gold mirror and look frantically for the unnecessary pair of white, woolen socks. I grab them and walk back, slowly, to my unmade bed. I take a seat and draw one leg up to wear the sock. I’m disappointed when my eyes land on the forsaken box that’s been collecting dust since Monday afternoon. It’s Saturday today.

I wish I didn’t know what was in it but unfortunately, I’m fully aware. My books. All 500 of them are in the brown package. It’s time to put all my late nights on the market and I’ve continually delayed sending them to two of my new partners, to start selling. They’ve both called me twice this week and I gave them lame excuses which I know won’t hold for long. I’m supposed to be excited. I mean…I am. This is my best work yet, and I’m certain that it’s just the beginning of much more. There’s just something in the air that’s keeping me.

‘Something in the air’ reminds me of Ephesians 2:2 that speaks to the prince of the power of the air, that being Satan, and I get angry just from realizing I’m losing to a force that got too big for his boots and was kicked out of heaven for it. Unbelievable!

When I received the box on Monday, I suddenly had so many questions and possible errors that need to be fixed. At some point I was looking at the sample book and thinking I need to completely change the cover and use a different image of myself on the last page. I was purging my appearance when a phone call from mom came through. Saved by the bell! I wanted to tell mom what was going on but I already knew what she would say. I knew what anyone would say at this point.

“You know you’re a good writer, Taylor.”

“Don’t let the enemy discourage you now, Tay.”

“I believe in you!”

“You’ll do great. Everyone will love it.”

And I love all of them for the support, I just don’t know how to internalize the positivity for myself. I don’t know how to believe it for me. I’m fully equipped on how to let the negative sink in and then working past it day by day, but positivity is quite foreign. The very concept of SUCCESS is weird to ponder.

I fall backward, on my bed, completely abandoning the socks I’d so eagerly sought from my drawer.

My hands rest on my face as I whisper “I’m proud of me, I’m proud of me, I’m proud of me.”

Another failed attempt to encourage myself.

I sigh and stare at my ceiling. The circles all over it are making me dizzy, like I’m spinning in my bed but I know I’m not. I close my eyes to do the on thing I’ve also been avoiding all week. To pray.

‘Hi Abba. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding You, I just don’t like disappointing You so…”

I get on my knees, on the ground near my bed.

“Please forgive me”, I pause with hope that I’ll hear Him say it out loud that He forgives me.

“Please help me, Spirit. My mind is eating away at my joy and I don’t even want to give these books to anyone anymore. Yesterday, I felt like a fraud. Today, I feel like a liar and a cheat. Like it’s not even possible that I’ve written a book. I know You’ve given me the spirit of sound mind but it isn’t sound right now. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

I want to say ‘amen’ when I hear Him say “open the box and grab a copy. Not the sample. A copy that you will sell.”

I oblige and rip the tape on the box with my orange pair of scissors. When I flip the wings of the box it’s as if I just cracked open a safe with millions worth of diamonds in it. The white book cover hits my eyes and the blue printed title stands out so beautifully across the bottom of the cover page. I read it slowly in my mind; “Found In The Valley”. I’m still on my knees and I let the weight of my body rest on my bent legs. My eyes are welling with tears but I turn the book to read the back. I used Arial Narrow for the back to give the font a softness. Easy on the eyes for my binge readers, I believe. I actually am proud of this work.

I start to recall how the writing process began. I was sitting in this very room with a notepad and a pen on my lap. The page was blank and I didn’t know where to start, so I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer. I knew it was time to write the book but I needed God, just like I do now. I wanted to write it in such a way that my readers would have no choice but to resonate with the characters. To read and understand is different from reading and relating with whom you’re reading about. It was a story about one-character meeting God in the oddest places throughout her life and finally receiving a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to testify before an unimaginably large crowd. The tickle on my cheek from my tears brings me back to the present as I wipe it away.

Then I hear God saying “does that look unfinished and filled with error?”

I bow my head and stay silent. His rhetorical questions come with a holy sting for sure. Now I can imagine how Abraham and Sarah felt when He asked them rhetorical questions.

“Get up and go where you’re supposed to go. Am I not faithful that you doubt My work? What I begin, I finish. Am I not the Alpha and Omega?”

“Go,” He concludes.

I spring to my feet and feel an emotion I haven’t experienced since the box arrived. Excitement.

I make up my bed hastily as I ponder what to wear and where to find it in my wardrobe. As I drop my pillow over the covers, I fall to my knees again and begin to pray in the Spirit, overwhelmingly grateful for God’s understanding and willingness to deal with me. And that’s all I needed…His prompt. His assurance and re-alignment.

I whisper “I love you, and thank you Abba” before I sprint to my bathroom to prepare for what will surely be a beautiful day.