This morning, I was so happy just to have some time to write. It makes me sad not to write.
I realized that writing is the prize. Doing it is the prize. It reminds me of the way I’m learning to love God–just for Himself, just to be with Him–and not for what could come of it in the way of blessing. He is the blessing. That is the prize.
When thought of this way, I enjoy the thing I’m doing–whether writing or praying. I sink down deep into it because the doing is the prize. Sure, you can think about agents and publishers and book contracts and signings, but that’s a whole other thing. That’s the business of it that may or may not flow from the writing.
I predict that if one enjoys the prize of writing itself, the suffocating clutch of future reward will loosen its dark grip. The reward will come, but it’s also already here.
So write! Write, write, write, and rejoice.