Why I am Thankful for my Failure
Today is the final day of a fundraising campaign that didn’t reach its goal, and we are thrilled about it failing.
There are a couple of reasons the failure brings us pleasure. First, it is a reminder that God has called us to walk by faith in all things. The phrase, “One Step at a Time” or “Walk by Faith” are quickly tossed to people who are facing difficulties. If a friend tells you their child has been diagnosed with a rare disease, if a coworker shares the shame of an upcoming bankruptcy, or if a close friend admits to an addiction it is natural to offer hope by reminding them to walk in faith. We know that while our loved ones can’t see their way out of the darkness–walking through it one step at a time is all that is required.
Through this experience, we have been reminded that the same is true for good things. If an adventurous soul wants to accomplish their dreams, they still have to walk by faith and shower themselves with the same grace they would offer to someone who feels like their life is in chaos. Faith walking is not reserved to the chaotic life, it’s an everyday calling–for ordinary souls to achieve their daring dreams.
The second reason we are thankful we didn’t reach our targeted goal is because the goal got better.
When we realized we weren’t going to raise enough money to hire an experienced fictional editor AND pay for self publishing, we had to make a choice. It was going to have to be one or the other. Trust me, it wasn’t an easy decision. If we used the money we raised to hire an editor, we may end up with a polished manuscript–but how would we get it to those who had made pledges? And if we decided to forgo the editor and publish the manuscript in its raw state, would we be missing a step that could make the work more appealing and convey its message more clearly?
After praying and rehashing the situation, we decided that there was much more to be gained {and risked} by using the funds to hire a seasoned editor, even if it meant we wouldn’t have the necessary funds to self-publish. We decided that while self-publishing may be where we eventually land, we didn’t have to go to that place without first getting the manuscript into the best shape possible, then pursuing an agent and publishing house.
I don’t read my writing the way other people read it, so I cannot imagine an agent or a publisher seeing its value, but because we didn’t raise the money to do both, I am taking a step of faith that I would have never taken.
It’s much easier to walk down a well lit path. Heck, I even turn on a light to make the short journey down the hallway in my house. It’s normal and we will always strive to see more and know more–it’s in our nature. But, oftentimes when it comes to the dearest things in our life, the braver choice, the choice that brings the most growth and the greatest joy involves walking down a dimly lit path.
Follow this LINK for more information about Kimly’s Trade 🙂
I have lived with a nagging, disgruntled voice in my head for an indeterminate amount of time. Late at night, she sneaks into my room, crawls into my bed, and whispers words like, “more” “different” and “better”. Sometimes I don’t recognize her when she comes calling until I’ve listened too long. She’s a persistent dame. Beautiful, and forever young, she shops at high end stores, and lives in a house I’ll never occupy. I use scripture to silence her and I ask for help when I am overwrought. Oftentimes, my husband will spot her before I do. He’s not fond of her, at all, and does his best to keep her silent.
But, shutting her out completely is not the important thing, anyway. It doesn’t matter if her whispers wake me every single morning at 3:22. What matters is what I do after I hear her whisper. What matters is what I do at 3:23. She isn’t the only voice living within, after all. There is another voice, the voice of Truth, and that voice tells me to keep moving forward. If my inner critic doesn’t believe it can happen, then she will be the one who misses the adventure, not me. With or without my inner critic, I will reach my goals. She doesn’t have to believe it, she can sit back in all her disbelief and watch it unfold anyway.
Some of us begin to search for a sign or an indication that we are on the right track. If you think like me, if you find yourself wanting to please others, your first response when feeling insecure may be to look at how others are responding. Suddenly we get trapped into believing the indication of whether we are on the right or wrong path can be measured by the approval of others. Using the gauge of approval places us in constant turmoil, especially if someone we value silently withholds that all powerful nod.
Watching Irene drift away was devastating. She died in her home in July of 2012. I wouldn’t claim to have felt the pain as deeply as others. She has three children who survived her death, and a handful of very close friends. They are the ones who have had to live life without this soul to remind them of their beauty and their worth. They are the ones who have had to make decisions without her input–knowing full well that she would have had an opinion! But with Irene my closeness to her didn’t matter, because she had the ability to pull in people who barely knew her. She could make everyone feel included in the heart of whatever was happening.
It was on this hike that she encouraged me to take my questions, fears, and doubts and give them to God in the form of a book. She told me that the greatest strength I would have over these areas of weakness was to talk about them.
Now, here we are several years later and hundreds of miles away from that hiking trail, and God has called me to finish what I started when I first penned Kimly’s Trade. Through the last year and a half of blogging and reading God has allowed me to see areas where my writing can be improved, He has given me new insight to old struggles, and he has removed a lot of the fear that once held me in restraint.
American journalist, Kimly Denim, thought again about the man she met crossing the street in the center of the city of Chiang Mai. Something about him had left her feeling like a fluttering teen. Was it his eyes? She closed her own and visualized his gaze. Did he really have gray eyes? It wasn’t merely his appearance. Yes, he was handsome, but he wasn’t the first handsome man she had ever encountered. There was something different about him. She closed her dark eyes and mentally chastised herself. She remembered the reason she had made the trip to the Asian country: The News Article. Humans. Slavery. Sex Trafficking. The last diversion she needed while navigating her way through this inhumane darkness was the distraction of a man.
Jackie Sill 