Writing

Give up, Mr. Lincoln!

March 7th, 2010 |

Author: Christy

I entered a writing contest of sorts. I won’t say that I poured my sweat and blood into it, but I did give it my best, and I was pretty sure when I hit “submit” that I would be receiving a congratulatory email and the accolades of my soon-to-be peers in the writing industry. Although I am not normally one to give in to false hopes and back-patting, I could almost hear the judges hinting at a book deal. (It was a total Ralphie moment.)

Then it came, the awaited email.

It read LOSER!

I do not typically waste much effort on either self-deprecation or feeding my ego, equally selfish pursuits in my view. A bit of confidence, however, would serve me well. Unfortunately, that confidence often eludes me, leaving me easily discouraged, if not defeated.

I decided then and there to quit…everything. I wasn’t good enough. The judges had stamped “Loser” on my forehead, and nobody would read past that ever again. I resigned myself to a writing career climaxing in grocery lists and belated birthday cards, if I could find a willing audience even for those. I imagined my mailbox filled with unopened birthday cards stamped “Return to Sender.” (Yup, I can get pretty dramatic.)

At times when my husband is anchored by discouragement, I remind him of the great Abraham Lincoln. President Lincoln’s pre-presidency failures would have sent most men to the unemployment office with defeat written across their faces, but not Abe! He persisted, struggled, had a nervous breakdown, and kept going until finally, WOW! President of the United States! Healer of the Great Rift (sort of)! Emancipator of Many! Does it get any better? This is what I tell my husband.

When it was my turn to feel defeated, I again referenced the life story of Abraham Lincoln. You do realize, I argued to my husband in a strange twist of perspectives, that if Abraham Lincoln had just given up, he probably would have lived a lot longer. If he had pursued a medical career instead of law and politics, he could have become a small country doctor, saved his sweetheart from early death, avoided the nervous breakdown entirely, and lived a long and happy life quietly tending to the needs of his grateful and affectionate patients in the backwoods of Illinois with a doting bride at his side and a passel of healthy children growing strong under their parent’s gentle tutelage. (While I’ve heard of a place called Reality, my dramatics only skirt its edges.)

Look how much happier Mr. Lincoln could have been had he thrown in the towel early on. Never mind the huge ramifications this scenario would have had on our country…and on the look of our monetary system and national monuments, come to think of it. Weren’t the nervous breakdown and the defeat upon defeat signs from God? Get a clue man! Just give up!

Get a clue lady! Just give up!

Sometimes all it takes to set me back on my Lincolnesque course is a little encouragement from someone who neither birthed me nor benefits in any way from my continued happiness. Alas, no such bolstering of the spirits was available, so I threw in the pencil and let the weight of yet another broken dream drag me down. (Can you say “mountain out of a molehill?”)

That’s when it came to me. The still small voice.

Be what you need.

Be to others that which you yourself need. Be the encouragement. Be the smile. Be the woman who spits on her thumb and rubs a few layers of skin and the Loser label off the forehead of the downtrodden. Do it with sincerity and honesty, not with empty flattery or a lying tongue. But most of all, just do it!

Hey, I can do that! I’m a great spit rubber!

I started in on the nearest and smallest. “I like your outfit. It’s clean-ish.” It was weak, but it was a start. “Hey, nice job setting the table.” I moved on to bigger and better. “You did a great job on your speech last week. Keep it up!” Caught in the act. “You’re a sweet big sister to the baby. I can tell she really loves you, and so do I.” The unexpected. “Thank you, Honey, for giving up your whole weekend to work on the taxes. If it helps any, I could have another half dozen children and hike up our child tax credit.” The everyday. “We always pick your checkout line because you are friendly and helpful, even when you’re swamped. Thank you.” The lifting up. “Yes, you misspelled a lot of words, but I see a lot of improvement since you started working at this. Keep trying, because YOU CAN DO THIS!” The moment of quiet thoughtfulness. “You know that horse book you want to write. I think you can do it. It’ll be hard work, but you’ve got what it takes…and I’ll help you.” And every once in a while, a stretch: “That is the wildest bedhead EVER! You ROCK Little Dude!”

After only a few minutes of being what I needed, I no longer needed what I had become. The power of encouragement directed outward not only took the focus off my personal woes, but, when a quiet moment allowed some retrospection, I realized that my own Loser label had faded as I set about building others up in truth and love.

Not a bad lesson, one I never would have learned had I not first failed. Lincoln would likely have agreed.