[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

Endings

The grief, when it came, was something I’d expected. It’s like watching a
long death: you know it’s going to happen, and then there’s the moment
when it does, and in that moment there’s a sort of peace because it’s done
and over with.
	Four books: they’ve garnered good praise but not the sales I needed. So
that’s that. There will be no fifth, unless I choose to publish on my
own. I was expecting this word and I heard it yesterday.
	It isn’t something I could rail against, even if I wanted. The fact is
that most writers don’t make it – that’s just the way of the business.
And I was writing in an area (faith) and in a form (essays) that are
notorious non-sellers.
	Of course there’s sorrow; it’s a death of sorts, and I cried a little
when I found out, but I also felt at peace because I’d known this was
coming and it’s good to get it over with.
	But two things came to me:
	First: now I can go back to writing Godstuff purely for God’s sake,
accepting the impermanence of my pieces, not having to worry what happens
to the words. They float free out into cyberspace, and what happens to
them after all doesn’t matter. It’s an odd liberation. I don’t have to be
“on”. It’s returning to where I began, and so in a sense it’s a
homecoming.
	Second, I’m at the Calvin College Festival of Faith and Writing this
weekend.  I’ve had a marvelous time talking to writers who have succeeded
and likely will go on succeeding.(hi Ellen! Hi Delia!) Bless them, may
their royalties ever increase. But their way lies in one direction and
mine now lives in another. It’s as though they’re big rigs on a
superhighway, and I’ve just turned my small car off, taken the exit,
heading down a quiet side road into country I’ve never explored.
	I don’t know what the next thing will be; I don’t know where I’m intended
to go now. I do know, though, that I’m still travelling with God. Maybe
it’s just habit; I don’t know. The presence sits beside me. There’s a
quietness here; it’s just the two of us now, companionable. The funny
thing is that I’ve come away from the death more faith-full and trusting
than I could have expected. I’m still in your hands, Lord; just let me
know what you want me to do.
	I’m sorry; this isn’t graceful or poetic or especially inspired. But
sometimes we’re called to stand in plain and quiet places, and that’s
where I seem to be. But perhaps all landscapes, properly considered, have
their holiness. This one too.