Publishing Praise

I'm thinking today about my goal to "Write for Publication." (the name of a class I took once.) I am pursuing that goal. I'm taking classes, going to conferences, studying my craft, sending out queries, and even having a few things published here and there. But my ultimate goal comes from Psalm 96:3

Publish His glorious deeds among the nations. 

Tell everyone about the amazing things He does.

I want to do that in books, magazines, film, public speaking and anything else that comes my way. But the most important place to publish His deeds is in my life, something I've learned by example from some of the most important men in my life, actually.

It started with my grandfather. He kept a daily journal all his adult life, although he told us he didn't expect his little scratches would ever mean much to anyone. He lived through the depression, lost his first wife in childbirth, and forged his way as a young minister despite the resistance of his own family. I wish he could know how often I've faced a crises and heard his words echo in my heart, "There will be a way provided."

My father would never consider himself a writer. The only thing he ever published are a few letters to people going through really hard times. He sent me one almost thirty years ago, and I could pretty much print it here from memory. We had moved our little family of six half-way across the state for Wendell's internship. I had never been away from home before, and my dad knew I was suffering from homesick and all the other emotions that go with being a young mother with a busy husband. The letter was a masterpiece. Worthy of some kind of golden seal of approval. It was only two or three pages of squiggly writing on narrow, lined paper. But it reminded me to hold on to God and to be grateful for the daily miracles of life. It birthed gratitude in my soul and brought sanity to my mind. 

A few Christmases ago, my husband and I were facing a tough time. Really tough. The kind of tough that makes you think maybe you can't hang on. The gift he gave me was a picture frame with a little wooden drawer in a shelf underneath. It holds a picture of baby Claire, our micro-preemie granddaughter when she was just a few months old. The look on her face seems to dare obstacles to get out of her way. On the card, Wendell said, "look inside the drawer and you will find the gift I really want to give you this year." On a strip of yellow legal pad I found this word: Hope.

In my own writing career, I've only received one letter from someone who read something I published in a magazine. (and that is a story for another day!) But people stop me in the grocery store on a regular basis to comment on my neighborhood news column in the county paper or the three paragraph devotional on the front page of the church bulletin. Those things will never be widely circulated except by the janitors who sweep them up and toss them in the trash bins. But they are publishing His praise. And that's my goal.