Wishing

When I was a little girl, I used to catch the tops of dandelions, those puffy off-white-spiky- round-floaty-things. I would chase after them, my flip-flops making clapping noise, my feet racing and my laughter spilling from my throat. Once captured, I held it cupped in my palms, drew in my breath, made a wish and then released it back into the atmosphere, unharmed. I never wondered if anyone else found the same wish. But when my daughter was little, she too reached in the summer air for the tops of weeds, clutched them carefully and stowed the treasures in one of our cabinets. Now, the images of wishes are on greeting cards, wall art at Ikea, and on my lime-green sofa pillows. When I lay my middle-aged head on the soft fabric, I can smell the freshly cut grass under my toes. I see a smile playing on my daughter's face. I listen to the sound of noiseless prayers, lips moving in secret silence, expectant hearts waiting for answers. Hope, the ultimate wish.

Thoughts on Grace

Several years ago I wrote a book, and since have queried more than fifty editors. My drawer is half-filled with rejection letters and tiny printed post cards. Last year, my daughter emailed me a quote from Jodi Picoult who encourages writers to be persistent, to not quit, to be someone who believes in their own work to such a degree that they refuse to give up. The funny thing about Grace, and I capitalize the word to show my up most respect, is that no matter how many times we find ourselves feeling dejected, wounded, and sorrowful from lack of acceptance, Grace has a sneaky way of showing up, right on time. Recently, I received a good rejection letter. The editor had actually taken the time to read my submission and made a few comments. The fact that she did not choose to represent my work, paled in light of the simple truth that she took the time to consider my writing. I drew a big smiley face on the white envelope addressed to me, and placed it on top of the plethora of rejection cousins. Grace moves us forward.