Why Perspective Is So Important

I am a ghost writer (well, except for this blog and the other ones that will be launching very, very soon!)

What that means is that I write for other people.  They give me their thoughts, the points they want to make, and I make sentences and paragraphs for them.  That's the simple version of it.  But you get the gist.

I'm a "ghost" because I don't have a by-line on their work.  A by-line is the place on an article or a book that tells you who wrote it.  But I like being a ghost.  I don't need the by-line.  And after all, it's their work.  Their thoughts.  Their points.  I'm just helping them to be awesome at what they do. (HA!  If I do say so myself!)

I have some really, really great people that I get to work with who are doing great, great things in the world.  They are helping churches, helping people in the midst of some difficult life struggles, helping women have more organized lives, and helping people build their dreams, just to name a few! How can I NOT love this job?

There are days when I'm overwhelmed at the level of trust people have placed in me.

Yesterday was one of those days.  At the end of the day I sat down at the kitchen table, put my head in my hands, and said to my husband about a new, very large client that I have, "I don't know if I can do this.  What if I'm not good enough? They're trusting me with their dream!"  He said, "They picked you.  They know tons of writers.  Probably good ones.  They picked you.  Now go take a bubble bath."

I love that man.  Such perspective.

It is so easy to convince ourselves what we aren't.  What we can't do.  What we won't be good at.  Sometimes we just need people who have a different vantage point to give us perspective.

All that to say, I'm feeling thankful today.  Thankful for great people who trust me with their dreams.  And thankful for a new perspective.  (and for my husband who knows how to shut down my doubts!)

I Like to Tell Stories

When the girls were little, pretty much from the time we got them until just a few months ago, I worked all the time.  I had a full-time job in a church.  I loved my job and the people I worked with each day.  It was a challenging job in so many ways, and fed some really great parts of me.  But it also fed some not so great parts of me.  That's truth.

I remember that I used to explain to Shannay that I had to work because my job was helping people love Jesus more.  Some mornings when I would leave for work or drop her off at the day care and she would balk (freak out is a better description, that or have a near nuclear life-shifting meltdown) I would say, "Shannay, Mommy has to go help people love Jesus more."

When I think about that now, ugh.  I'll bet that sweet little girl was thinking, "But I need you Mommy.  "I" need you to stay here with me.  "I" need you to help me not be afraid.  "I" need you to constantly remind me that my world will not ever be an evil, scary place again."

That's not really the direction I was going with this post, so let me shift back.

I used to try to explain to her what I did as my work.  Why I had to be gone all the time.  And I think on her level, she got it.  Mama had a job.  People have jobs.  Jobs help us eat and have clothes and have a place to live.  Jobs are good.

And over time, she got used to me being gone all the time.

Then life changed.  And Mama was home all the time.

At home and on her computer.

A few weeks ago I was explaining to Shannay what my job was.  (She asked me why I didn't go to work anymore.)

I explained to her that when I was on my computer, I was working.  That my work was writing. When she asked me what I was writing (which by the way EVERYONE asks), I thought about it for awhile and then I said, "Well, I guess you could say I write people's stories for them."

Yesterday, she was playing at her desk near mine and she had a pretend laptop on her desk.  When I asked her what she was doing she said, "I'm doing my job."

So I said, "What's your job, Shannay?"

She said, "I'm helping my friends tell their stories.  Just like you, Mom."

Melt.  My.  Heart.

All that to say, I'm still getting used to answering the question, "What do you do for a living?"  I still have days where I miss the interaction with other adults. But moments like yesterday make the transition so much easier.  What do I do for a living?  Well, I guess I'm helping my friends tell their stories.