Brave on the rocks

I had a moment recently when I emphatically decided to cancel my book party.

I’ve already downgraded it from a public book launch to a little party at a friendly local – the pressure of making it into a marketing event was stealing the joy for me.

But I’m so tired, and the whole self-publishing process has been so seismic, that even organising that small gathering seemed like an insurmountable obstacle at this point.

So, I called it quits.

Only for about half an hour – it wasn’t a smart choice. I’m just feeling the final stretch.

I have a picture in my mind of this stage I’m in.

I see myself like a little child, stumbling over a tricky piece of terrain – let’s say, rocks in the middle of a stream, trying to reach the riverbank. I know I’m not alone. I know my hand is being held. And, theoretically at least, I do believe I’ll make it to the other side.

But it’s still scary and slippery and, quite frankly, I’d rather be picked up and carried. Preferably while sleeping.

Unfortunately, that’s not the deal on offer. I have to walk it myself.

The thing is, sometimes I get so incredibly tired of having faith – even though it’s the only way I know how to live. I get so fed up of reaching for comfort from the intangible.

I need something I can hold onto. Literally.

So, I’ve been revisiting the things that encouraged me when I was a teenager:

One of Sabrina Ward Harrison’s honest books – revelling in her unique voice as a vulnerable pioneer of confessional journal art; something that felt so rare before social media.

And a stone I graffitied decades ago that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand: a talisman that was small enough to live safely in a bag or coat pocket, ready to caress whenever I needed it.

And a song: ‘Can’t Give Up Now’ by Mary Mary – a gospel-infused belter I had on repeat circa 2001 for reasons I no longer remember. I haven’t heard it in years. I still know the lyrics inside-out. The words articulate my anchor.

This is who I am.

This is who I’ve always been: someone who continues to put one foot in front of the other because I believe.

Persevering for the love of an unfathomable God is not always easy.

But the memory of who I was in my teens is more accessible. I owe it to that girl to follow through.

Because she’s already come such a long, long way.