I'm published!

I'm published! 

It sounds like a bigger deal than it is. Technically, I'm "published" every time I hit "publish" on this blog. But I'm talking about being published in a magazine, which isn't that big of a deal either, considering:

• my husband publishes a magazine every other month and is in charge of leading his team, writing articles, editing everyone's submissions, designing the pages, and dealing with the business side of things, too. He's done this nearly 50 times, so it feels weird to celebrate "being published" for one article in a small hometown magazine.
• I think they accepted every entry submitted. In the same way, I could say I "made the tennis team" in high school, but they didn't cut anyone, so all I had to do was show up for practices and matches.

Still, I'm published. My hometown newspaper puts out a quarterly magazine called "her: magazine for women." My mom always saves her copy to send to me, and I enjoy perusing the articles. When there was a call for entries on "what gives me hope," my mom told me the submission details. This lined right up with my desire to do more reflective writing. So, I typed out my thoughts, read it over a bunch of times, and hit "send." I soon got a reply from the editor    

    Wow! I am delighted with your column, and I'm touched that your mother saves our little magazines for you. It is a special joy for me when we get first-time submissions. I've believe yours is the seventh or eighth we've received on this call out. I think that is the most we've had for such a request.

   Anyway, YES, of course I want to use your piece. 

I'm smiling even now as I reread her comments. Again, I'm not clamoring for readership or followers, but it is nice when my writing goes beyond just my own personal reflective benefit. I had to wait a month and a half to actually receive the magazine, but I have to admit that I haven't actually read it in print. I'm too nervous! (reminds me of the yearbooks I spent hours creating but was too afraid I'd find mistakes when actually holding a copy)

Without further ado, here is my PUBLISHED article/essay/piece: Go Ahead...Get Your Hopes Up!

“On the count of 3, I’m going to turn around, and I want you all to read what’s on the back of my shirt,” our children’s pastor announced to the crowd of eager elementary campers. Wearing his brand-new light gray camp T-shirt, he turned as he counted…

“1...2...3!”

The direction-following campers called out what was on the back of his shirt, “STAFF!”  Apparently, the staff shirts did not say the same thing as the camper shirts. On the back of the camper shirts was the phrase “Go ahead...get your hopes up!”  It became sort of an anthem in those days that our children’s pastor told us often, but I’ve got to admit -- it always rubbed me the wrong way. 

Get our hopes up? Only to have them crushed? What if these kids get their hopes up that this is going to be the best week of their year, but they end up with sunburns and bedbugs?  What if they get their hopes up that their home life will be better when they return, only to find it worse? What if they get their hopes up that their grandma will be healed from cancer but she dies anyway?  Nah...it’s better not to be too hopeful or too optimistic; that way, you won’t be as disappointed when the hoped-for doesn’t happen.

If I place my hope in circumstances, it’s true that I often will be disappointed.  After hearing in mid-March that my school was switching to remote learning for two weeks, I hoped that my house would be cleaner than ever from all our extra time at home without being able to go anywhere or do anything.  Let’s just say that that hope was dashed quickly by the reality of having four  8-and-under boys running amok in our home 24/7.  I had the hope that I would finish the year with the usual Field Day, much-anticipated overnight fieldtrip, 5th grade promotion ceremony,and exciting end-of-year events.  As days stretched into weeks, that hope diminished as well.  I hoped for our big family road trip out west and our summer camp plans not to be canceled, but alas. Disappointed again.

Eventually, though, I realized that I had it all wrong.  My hope is not in a “what” but in a “Who.”  My hope is not in the circumstances within or outside of my control.  Too often, they lead to disappointment. I don’t get my hopes up about the next election swaying in my favor or the issue of racial tensions suddenly taking a turn for the better or the pandemic to “magically go away.”  My hope is not in other people because they, too, let me down time and again (although I still hold onto the hope that my boys will all get along someday!).  I don’t even hope in myself that I’ll finally be that organized person I’ve always wanted, but failed, to be. 

When my mom (Marsha Lundquist) told me about the call for entries on HOPE, my initial thought was the first line of an old hymn: “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”  In Christian circles, the word “hope” can be thrown around often and flippantly.  In these days of uncertainty, though, it really is “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure (Hebrews 6:19).” What Jesus did on our behalf in reconciling us to God is the only thing giving me firm footing.  The chorus of that hymn declares, “On Christ, the Solid Rock, I stand. All other ground is sinking sand.”

My hope for bettering myself? Sinking sand.

My hope for peace in our world (and in my home)? Sinking sand.

My hope for quick, easy solutions to complex health and economic issues? Sinking sand.

My hope that Jesus redeems the days of hardship, restores what is broken, and rescues us from sin’s consequences? Solid rock.

Go ahead...get your hopes up!