Faith, Writing, and Rejoicing

I started the morning with an obligatory selfie with my friend and travelling buddy, Bronwyn, followed by a quick stop at the registration desk.

I wasn’t sure the nylon lanyard with it’s clear plastic name tag holder was adding anything to my carefully selected and Pinterest-researched outfit, but it was certainly practical. I surveyed the growing crowd of people in Calvin College’s Prince Convention Center, trying to spot name tags I would recognize. This was my second experience with meeting people in real life that I’ve only interacted with online (the first being last year’s Redbud Retreat). I wished the name tags had included the person’s profile picture; it’s disorienting to see three dimensional people without having some point of reference to work from. I’m terrible with names, and there’s nothing worse that being in the middle of a conversation frantically trying to remember the context of how I know the person I’m talking to.

The Festival of Faith and Writing had drawn in 2,000 writers, readers, and other creatives from across the globe, swelling Calvin College’s 4,000 student campus to capacity. I was honestly still in shock and awe that I was even there. The Lord had provided abundantly for me and in surprising ways to make this a reality. It is not a normal weekend for me to sit at the feet of Anne Lamott, Neil Plantinga, Daniel Taylor, Bret Lott, Miroslav Volff, and many others. Not to mention getting to enjoy the in-real-life fellowship of like-minded writers I’ve had the pleasure of bumping into online.

It felt as though I’d lived at least a week in three days, and it’s taking me even longer to process all that I took in. I was up early, filled to overflowing throughout the day with interesting, engaging sessions and chats over coffee and plenary addresses, then out late for more “fellowshipping”, and finally would crash deliriously into bed asleep before I could even debrief in my journal about the day. It. Was. AWESOME.

I loved it. Seriously, all of it. Okay, well at least ninety percent of it. Remember that post I wrote last year about The Beast of Comparison? Well that eleven knuckled jerk did try to make an appearance. I mean, it was kind of an ideal feasting ground for him. A ballroom full of publishers, editors, and agents, receptions of the who’s-whos and rubbing shoulders with the greats can do a number on a girl’s fledgling self confidence. That familiar feeling that everything has been said already, and said better than I could say it, was quickly filling my mind with its smoke.

I went into the final plenary address pretty much at the point of complete physical and emotional exhaustion. My brain and heart were full, all back reserves of introvert energy spent on being social, and the stress of meeting with a publisher for the first time had left me wiped out. Honestly, my guard was up a bit too. Rachel Held Evans was speaking and I just wasn’t feeling up to a hot-button discussion of Biblical womanhood.

Rachel has been somewhat of an enigma to me. The old, more idealism-driven me would have thrown her out with the murky “liberal” bathwater, but this new me, the one that leans into the difficult questions testing to see if they can hold the weight of my belief, finds some of her answers not easily dismissed. Or at the very least she challenges me to ask new questions altogether. In an unexpected moment (there were a few) I actually got to meet Rachel at a reception I attended. We shook hands. It was short and my small-talk insecurity made me feel awkward, but I found her to be warm, genuine, and engaging. It caught me off guard. I’m not sure exactly what I had been expecting, but probably a more intimidating, militant defender-of-women countenance. Which rationally is ridiculous, of course, but I certainly wasn’t expecting her to be so normal.

Theodore Roosevlet famously stated that, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” I can wholeheartedly agree. I knew I had a blog series on Trusting Joy looming, but I was struggling to find it, outside my simple enneagram Type 5 joy of all the knowledge I was getting to drink in at the various mind-blowingly awesome sessions. I looked at the crowd of 2,000 attendees, a high number professing to be writers and I’m sure even more than that who actually are writers, and struggled with seeing them as The Competition. And when I held my work next to some of theirs I felt pretty good. And when I held my work next to others I wanted to quit. (I defy you to listen to sweet, wise Luci Shaw read aloud her poignant and intuitive poetry and not want to set fire to everything you’ve ever thought you’d written well.)

In Philippians 1 the first mention of joy is in verse 4 where Paul says, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.” Paul does not look at his fellow believers as The Competition, but as partners. He doesn’t fret over how his work compares to theirs, but he thanks God for them. We’re all on the same team.

But what about the ones I’m not so sure about? The Mark Driscolls or Rachel Held Evans-es that seem to want to pull the team in two different directions? I was surprised to discover a litter further into chapter 1 in verse 18 another reference to the act of joy in rejoicing that Paul takes a rather liberal stance in speaking of those who would proclaim Christ out of love or selfish ambition. For either case he says, “What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed, and in that I rejoice.” I don’t necessarily have to fully agree with where they’re coming from, but if I can find them to be people who are proclaiming Christ, well that’s worth rejoicing. There really is only one team–His team.

As the starry overhead lights dimmed in the Calvin Covenant Fine Arts Center (mercifully because I was starting to get a focal migraine), I sat in the upper balcony floundering to mentally wrap up the past three days. I was just one person in a crowded theater that was overflowing into the walkways. How did I fit into this bigger picture? Would I ever be “good enough” to have my moment onstage?

Rachel walked out after her introduction and the warmth and genuineness of her countenance which I had personally experienced then flowed freely through her words, received by an eager crowd. It was not a defense (or definition) of Biblical womanhood–I missed that session–but a beautiful and encouraging address from one writer to another. My second favorite quote (the first being, “The next sentence is not in the refrigerator.” To which I tweeted the reply, “THEN WHERE IS IT?!”) was a sentiment she repeated to increase its effect. I let the words wash over me again and again. I let them begin to sink into my cautiously-optimistic-yet-always-skeptical-but-searching-for-joy Grinch-y heart, “We serve at the pleasure of a generous Master. There is plenty of work to do.” That is a statement with which I can agree without reservation or question.

I will not lose joy by comparison, I will find it in my partnership of the gospel with my many brothers and sisters as they serve him from their various backgrounds. We all have our work to do: Christ is to be proclaimed–in this I will always have a reason to rejoice.

Have you ever found yourself losing joy by comparing yourself to others? Share in the comments!

**This post is the first in the Trusting Joy series on Philippians.**