More than Tortilla Soup

May 18, 2005Write!

I marvel at God’s economy sometimes, particularly why He created me to long to write. Didn’t He know that I’ve spent a large portion of my life trying to please everyone? Didn’t He know that the word “rejection” cut deep into my sensibilities? Yes He did. And through this weird cycle of excruciation and elation, I am becoming more dependent on His smile than on the approval of others.

So, this week I got two rejections for three book projects. I’m really OK with it. Disappointed, of course, but content. I have a sense that God is ordering my time, my world. I realize that in this publishing biz that a project has to be the right time, the right editor, the right wind in the air, for a book to make it through the dreaded pub board. I can say with my mind that the rejection is all about the book not fitting, that it has nothing to do with publishers rejecting me as a person, but my heart limps along in these lessons sometimes.

But, last night, Julia climbed the stairs to what I call my “writing turret” (a little corner in my bedroom where I write). She was clad in Barbie-ish pink pajamas and her hair was wet and tangled. “Mommy,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said. I hugged her to myself, her shampooed head scenting the room.

“But mommy?”


“I love you more than tortilla soup.” She smiled.

I smiled. Nearly every night Julia comes home from school, inquiring about the dinner menu, in hopes that I will say tonight we’re having tortilla soup. She loves the stuff. If it were her will, she’d have it coursing through her little blue veins. EVERY NIGHT.

So for her to say such a sweet thing was a gift from heaven. It was as if the Lord knew I was feeling a bit rejected, so He tickled me pink with her words.

I’m in this crazy writing business, writing along the ebb and flow of joy and bewilderment. There are days of anticipation, days of resignation, days of perseverance, days of deep fulfillment. But in the midst of that, I am blessed with a girl clad in pink.

Who loves me more than tortilla soup.