Yesterday, I told you about a response I wrote to a letter to the editor in a metropolitan newspaper.
I signed my letter and mailed it off, knowing that not many letters are accepted. Chances were not good that it would be published. But mine was.
How do you celebrate that? I did a little fist pump in the quiet of my bedroom and went back to re-finishing the wooden dresser for the new baby.
A couple of weeks later, however, I got a note in the mail from our state representative (a friend whom I had helped in her campaigns), attached to a letter from the Colorado Right to Life Committee. They quoted parts of my letter in their monthly update letter (I even got called "dear lady"). Our representative added, "Did you see this? I'm so proud of you for writing that letter. It said it ALL."
When I get frustrated with rejection notices and failed writing projects, I remember this little exchange and know God was in the writing. If I write for him, he's already used me.
And here's the best part: that bundle of life turns 13 today. (Happy birthday, Timothy!) Every day, as I watch my son grow and run and experiment and learn, I get reminded again that life counts.