Writing Opportunity #12 – A Crucible’s Success

Success after multiple failed attempts. 400 words

I, of course, went over the word count — by 150 words. Shrug.

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I know in my mind that needing to take a break or revisit the drawing board are not failures, but my heart needs better convincing. Oh, it has grown and won “Most Improved” a quarter here and there, but seasons of static, hiatus, or “time to process” feel icky and weak. When I am wooed by the Spirit in these maintenance safeguards, I like to speed them up by slicing my way out, making pinholes into loopholes, loopholes into comfortable abysses.

Entrepreneurship pursuits are like confetti on my resume. Professional organizing. Thrift store reselling. Now, writing. (I’m sure there’s more that slipped my mind.) Each pause from those quests did not result in tears or too much frustration. That comes in the length of my wait for the play button to be delightfully pressed again.

Seminary: Take One. Seminary: Take Two. Now, Seminary: Take Three. Not necessarily failures. Just life and money and moves detouring me. Loose threads though. Loose threads on my favorite dress. Just won’t do, won’t do. Toss it, so I don’t have to look at it anymore. (If I am truly revealing the depths of my heart, the dress would be burned, so no one else can have it.) Out of sight, out of mind.

Now, I like to deceive myself into showing I am in a season of peaceful intermission, but I beckon a sense of reverberation of God’s will. Yes, I feel it, I always feel it under the surface, but sometimes it’s not the vibrations of my designated song in the symphony nor the breaking of packed dirt of my plow in the harvest.

But I’ve tasted morsels of sweet truth in these forced sabbaticals. These are prime times for my flesh to be scooped out like the meat of a pumpkin’s innards. Chunks of selfishness removed but stringy tendrils that are present to remind me Halloween comes back every year. My testing, my refining happens in what looks … well, kind of boring, but it’s actually where the real work — the burning off of the old and scabbing over with new skin — occurs. This is when the magic happens. In the “downtime.”

When a crucible is being fired, there’s usually no crowd, no applause. The pushing and prodding in the heat is done with just the raw substance and the Maker. This is not pretty and lasts until the Maker says, “It is good.” This is far from the gallery premiere with flashing lights and clinking glasses. That night comes and goes. But why do we see that sliver of life as success?

“The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the LORD tests hearts.” (Proverbs 17:3)

The testing is what matters. God has a history of this. Alloy must be removed (Isaiah 1:25). The smallest remnant will still go through the flames (Zechariah 13:8-9). All of this, all of this to melt out the profane, for His namesake (Isaiah 48:9-11).

Oh, and by the way, “in this you rejoice.” (1 Peter 1:6-7). Get used to it if you crave anything truly authentic.

So when it looks like I’ve bowed out, the performance, held in a furnace of edits, correction, and uncomfortable adaptations, has actually begun.

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This summer may appear as a lull on the outside, but it has actually had me refining creative impulses which is a fancy way of saying “writing, reading, and discovering what needs to be pushed to the periphery and what needs to be brought to the forefront.”

Going through the layers of life caused me to turn off all of my phone notifications except for my Bible verse of the day, email, and eBay (I’m on a cute earring fix). I’m still on Twitter too much.

I want to squeeze as much pre-autumn out of this month (I’m done with summer) as I can before updating on life. I figure let’s do that in the thick of the storm called September.

In the meantime, I just want to swing a few more days in the hammock, get my fingers ready for clipping our Spanish lavender down, and listening to Lenny Kravitz’s latest and “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers on repeat.