merrymuhsman

I adjusted my gardening hat and turned to my husband. “How do I look?”

Now any guy knows this is a dangerous question, but my husband is smooth. He gives me a crooked grin, and says that I look like my mom. And that’s a good thing. She was one of the kindest people I knew, and my mom rocked a hat!

My mom rocked a hat.

Apparently I do not.

My son’s girlfriend stifled a snicker, who also happened to be in the room. The laughter she held back shone like fireworks in her eyes. It’s OK. I know that I have entered the old lady stage where I need to take care of my skin and not get so much sun. My Mary Kay ladies have been telling me this for years!

I proceeded to the side hill facing the driveway and started to pull out the weeds that were growing through my sedum. The weeds roots were strong and determined to hold onto their dirt. As I pulled, raked and pulled some more, I was reminded how weeds were a curse from God. Because Adam and Eve disobeyed God and ate from the Tree of Life, the ground produces weeks and thorns.

Have you ever noticed that rain or shine or drought, the weeds will grow. Of course they grow better in the rain, but they don’t stop growing just because the ground is bone dry. I spend a lot of time pulling out weeds, and when I’m done, it looks wonderful. That pristine, Better-Homes-and-Garden-landscaping-weed-free look will only last so long. Days and sometimes weeks later, when I come back to my weeding, there are new ones, maybe fewer, but the weeds never go away entirely.

Weeds grow in my own life, in the spiritual ground of my heart. It’s so different from the weeds that grow in the garden. If I don’t tend to the weeds, recognize them when they first start to poke their heads from the ground, they will still grow and spread.

I have a very persistent weed called self-doubt that blooms in my heart nearly every day. No matter how hard I try, it never stays dormant for long and spreads in surprising ways.

Doubt entered my heart when I was asked to teach Sunday School. What did I know about teaching young people about Jesus? How do you get them to put down their phones or even show up on Sunday morning after being out late Saturday night? What could I possibly teach them when I was still learning? Over 15 years later, it turns out that I could learn alongside them. Not everything worked, but they showed up. Not every week. But they came. They learned and so did I.

Doubt told me that I would never have children. I thought I had accepted this fact, and yet, my  heart long to have a child of my own. I decided that I could just be the best aunt to my nieces and nephews. They all need to call me Tante Merry, by the way. German for aunt. Tante sounds way cooler. Say it out loud, and you’ll see.

One particular Saturday, I went to the grocery store, which is when everyone goes to the grocery store. As I was headed to the checkout, I saw a mom yelling at her dirty, barefoot kids at the checkout line. One child was in bib overalls, no shirt, his face smeared with dirt. Anger bloomed in my soul and fire spread through my veins. I took my time checking out, so the family might leave before me. I held back words such as “appreciate what you have,” and “you don’t know how luck you are.”

I came home and chopped weeds through my tears. I swung the hoe like I was battling demons who threatened to take my land. I yelled at God, shook my fist at the sky.  According to my timeline, I should be a mom now, and a bestselling author and neither of those things had happened. Why did God bless that woman? Clearly, she did not have the skills to take care of those kids. Mind you, I knew this after one moment in a grocery store. I didn’t know her story; it didn’t matter. She had what I wanted. I chopped until I nearly broke the blade off the hoe; my arms shook from the task, and I was wet with sweat.

A few years later, God gifted me with my own child. It was God’s will and God’s timing, not mine. I see that now. My son is 22 now. And my life was forever changed.

But after all of those things and numerous other ways that God has shown up, you’d think that doubt would be defeated. There’s no room in my life for doubt, and yet, there’s this thing called imposter syndrome. I do believe most writers have had it in life. Despite self-publishing a book, despite placing well in contests, despite getting into elite programs based on my work, despite having numerous agents look at my work, I still question if I can I write.

The weed of self-doubt can be deeper than tree roots. These roots can coil themselves around my heart and threaten to choke my soul in analysis paralysis. Why do I question God’s gift?

I sometimes ponder the story of Moses. Here was a guy who grew up in Egypt, had a good education, was respected, and he was afraid to speak up when God called upon him to free the Hebrews. Moses argued with God, believing he could not speak eloquently. God said He would be with Moses. God spoke to Moses in a burning bush and showed Moses two miracles by changing his staff into a snake and turning his hand into a diseased hand with leprosy. Still Moses questioned whether God chose the right guy. God became angry with him, rightfully so.

What did God do? God loves Moses so much that He Aaron to help Moses. Moses was one of the greatest people in the Bible, and Moses had doubts.

Sit on that for a moment.

As I pondered this point, I asked myself if the God of the universe would send help to a man who He chose to free an entire Hebrew nation, what would He do for me and my small problems. What does God do when I’m wallowing in self-doubt about being a writing imposter? He sends helpers to me, too.

He gifted me the most amazing family and friends who are always there for me, always telling me that I should stop doubting myself whether its writing, a decision or really any doubt that cracks through my resolve to do better. They love me unconditionally.

He sent me a writer named Frank, who I met at an on-line critique group. Frank is a talented science fiction and humor writer. One of the best truly. His services are sought after, and he’s always willing to lend a hand, judge a contest or co-write. He is always there when I need a critique and is very good at giving helpful criticism.

God sent me Anna who is arguably one of the funniest writers in the world. She believes in me enough to send me the occasion push to continue to write. She is a sister in Christ, and she challenges me to think differently. She is one of the best, and she is going to be a national name someday. I will say I knew her when.

God sent me a writer from Scotland who believes that I can write a romance. Did I mention she has the best accent, she’s smart and encouraging. She is an amazing mum, counselor and writer and she listens to my hair-brained ideas, challenges and encourages me.

Finally God sent me a woman who is just a bad-ass at so many things. She’s a best-selling author who considers me a friend. She first met me when I paid her to critique one of my chapters. This particular story was pitched to several agents, but always was rejected. I asked her for truth about what was the story missing, what was I doing wrong. She gave me the hard truth, using more comments than I thought Word could produce. She also gave me a grain of hope. I was a really good writer, I just needed some refinement. She wanted to work with me. She has been helping me refine my gift ever since, and continues to remind me that I am a gem in the dirt. Recently, she told me my craft has improved. I save her text messages to me to remind me that I’m not an imposter, and I’m better than I believe.

Doubts will always be part of my DNA, just as much as weeds will always grow. I am not alone in this fight against doubt or weeds. Jesus walks with me every day, encouraging me, loving me, despite my doubts and faults. God will always send helpers for me, too, even when my doubts grow bigger than my faith.

God sends helpers for you, too. Take a moment and look around. See if you find one, and if you do, thank the helper and thank God.