Last summer, I went to a reunion of sorts. We gathered in the glistening kitchen of someone I’ve known since high school, drinking margaritas. I met all of the people there decades ago at my church, though we don’t all see each other as often any more. Still, we know each other’s histories.
I asked everybody about graduations, kid milestones, work accomplishments, faith shifts. And then, a little before our host started putting burgers on the grill, someone asked me about writing.
“You were working on a book proposal, right? What’s it about?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard.
“That’s a great question,” I said. “And hard to answer.”
Mind you: I’d practiced an elevator pitch about that book idea until I had it down cold. It was not that I did not know how to explain the book. It was that telling these people about it—people who knew me well—felt like stripping naked.
I was over at SheLoves this week, talking about, um, talking about myself and using my jazz hands and high kicks to illustrate. Join me there?
Arguing with God about the Bible