I stare into the face of another weekend, as it's Friday afternoon; and the end of the workday creeps ever closer. My e-mail inbox remains frustratingly clear of the messages I need––the ones that answer missives I've sent today and over the week that now slides into the past, the ones that will reassure me that I'm doing my job properly, the ones that will affirm that I am doing what I was meant to do. It's amazing, isn't it, what little things can upend your mood in a day? What minor detail can either make your spirit soar to drag you into oblivion? Maybe, being a writer and a creative type, I'm especially vulnerable to such highs and lows. One word of praise from someone can make me feel like I've been given the moon, while the slightest bit of criticism––or sometimes even simply silence––can leave me feeling incompetent and inconsequential.
It's days like this that I find myself praying hard for some sign, some un-ignorable and undeniable message that I am, in fact, going to make it. Going to thrive and prosper where I've planted myself. That I'm being a good steward of the gifts I've been given and am not idly squandering them.
As I sit here in my "office," tapping away the hours on my keyboard and making the occasional trip to the coffee pot, the bathroom, the counter to request a refill of hot water for my tea or more pickles to feed my soul, I can only wait and pray. Wait and pray.
And say thank you that this is another day that I have made it, that this is another day that I am doing what I love to do. And maybe one day soon, that really big sign will come. In the mean time, the occasional little one is nice to have––and so I savor those along with my pickles.
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