We were heading home on I76 after visiting my son and his family in Philadelphia, and the only sound was humming tires on smooth pavement. I took a peek in the seat behind me. My granddaughter was sound asleep. Her baby mouth hung open as her tiny chest rose and fell with each unlabored breath. I glanced at my grandson. Alone with his thoughts, he sat mesmerized by the scene that hurtled past his window. At 80 miles per hour, the budding trees, fallow pastures, and grazing cows were a wash of watercolor across a broad canvas.
Then, from behind the wheel, my stoic daughter gave me a quick sideways glance. “Do you have a bucket list? Is there anything else you want to do before you die?”
Her question took me by surprise. Was there anything else? I was comfortably retired; Noble and I had just celebrated thirty happy years of marriage that February. My children had college degrees and were putting their strengths to work in careers of their own. And as parents themselves, they were handing down that dream to the next generation.
What was left?
I want to write, and I do write—a lot. I am still working on the novel, In Her Bones, the Lord inspired me to write in 2019, and, of course, I am writing this memoir. Yet I am torn. The publishing industry is no kinder than the software industry. I am merely one of millions of want-to-be authors, no more special, and no more talented than others. Do I want to invest the time, and the tears, into writing like I did with my business? What if it too comes to nothing? What if I spend the last decades of my life writing books that no one publishes? Or worse, books that no one reads.
Wouldn’t it be easier to just sit down and shut up?
This doublemindedness reminds me of Jesus’s parable of the talents. In it, a man distributed his wealth to his stewards according to their ability. To one, he gave five talents. To another, he gave two, and to still another, he gave one. The one who had five worked hard and made five more. The one who had two made two more, but the one with one talent hid theirs in the ground because they were afraid.
What were they afraid of? Failure? Perhaps, but is fear of failure deserving of exile into the darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth? More likely, since they obviously did not know their master, they thought their efforts would go without reward, and if there was any increase, it would go to a selfish man who did nothing to gain it. He was already rich. Why make him richer?
People who came to hear Jesus teach had experienced oppression in its harshest forms. Their culture had been under the thumb of tyrannical regimes for hundreds of years. First, the Assyrians. Then the Babylonians, the Persians, the Greeks, and finally, the Romans. They were poor. No. They were destitute. Why use what little they had left to make Rome richer?
The parable was for them, but it is also for us, because most of us, at some time or another, face oppression of some sort.
Murderers take our loved ones from us, leaving vulnerable holes that the world clamors to fill with its vices.
Husbands abuse their wives (and vice versa), destroying trust and producing isolation.
Organizations denigrate women, stealing their talents and nullifying their souls.
Influential men hoard resources while continuously plotting to accumulate more.
But our Father in Heaven is for us. No matter what social position we are in when we come to him—he is for us. So, no, I will not give up. I will press on. I refuse to bury my one talent in the ground, for I know my God is good, and no one can tell me otherwise. He rewards those who diligently seek him. Now, and in the kingdom that’s coming.
Published Fiction Dream: Fulfilled!!!
I have been self-publishing speculative fiction on Substack since August 2023 and have gained 101 subscribers, many who read my stories every week!
Check out what else I am writing.
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