take your time
This week, while I was out running, my body was on the trail, but my mind was focused on the free ebook promo I’d been running all week for my second book, Voted Most Likely.
I love writing books, but promoting them is a whole different story. It’s not that I don’t like talking about my books—I do! I love it. I’m proud of them, and I want every person on earth to read them. But you know what I don’t love? Waiting for results. Waiting for readers to pick up my books. Waiting for reviews and revenue and that ever-elusive feeling that I’ve succeeded.
Basically, I just don’t like waiting. I don’t think any of us do.
We live in a world that expects quick results and instant gratification. We have the internet and endless streaming options; we have Amazon Prime overnight shipping and viral reels on social media. These days it’s hard to be patient because we don’t really have to be. It’s hard to see the value in waiting because why wait when, with one click, you could have it right now?
I find myself falling into this trap all the time, especially when it comes to my books and small business. It’s easy to look at other authors and business owners and marvel at their seemingly overnight success. And it’s even easier to take that success and make it mean something bad about me.
Why can’t I figure this out?
Why is this taking so long?
Am I doing it wrong?
I used to treat my work like a sprint rather than a marathon—go hard and fast until you’re ready to pass out, then crawl on your hands and knees over the finish line. But the Lord has patiently ministered to me over the past few years through His gentle correction as He helps me get back up again. He takes me by the shoulders and grabs hold of my heart, leaning in close to make sure I’m listening as He whispers the words, “Slow down.”
Take your time.
Wait.
Pause.
Look.
Listen.
Watch and see what happens next.
We’ve all heard it said before: Life is a marathon, not a sprint. In fact, it’s not a race at all—we’re all just walking each other home.
Why is that such a hard thing to remember?
Bloom where you’re planted is how the saying goes. Be still and know, is what God is always reminding us. Be still and know that He’s put you on the exact path you need to be on. Be still and know that He has magnificent things in store for you.
So if all of that is true, then blooming where you're planted becomes a tremendous act of faith, the purest act of surrender we can offer. If we let ourselves grow where we are rather than always trying to transplant our tender shoots somewhere else, we are saying, Lord, I trust you. Take my life and make it into something spectacular.
This week, as I ran, I decided to bloom where I was planted. I was still and I knew. My eyes drank in the details of my surroundings, all the colors available to me right now. The pale yellow of the summer grass faded from too many days in the hot sun. Countless shades of green, from the towering saguaros to the tiny-leafed creosote bush waving in the wind. All the rocks lining the trail in every shape and size, another riot of unexpected colors.
If I was wishing I was somewhere else the whole time I was running, I would’ve missed out on what was right in front of me. If I’m expecting my desert trail run to look like something out of Forks, Washington, then the majesty of Arizona would be lost on me.
If I don’t appreciate the path I’m on, then I will wear myself out searching for something I think is better—and I will always be disappointed. If I keep sprinting when I could be taking my time, I will miss out on all the goodness along the way.
This week, my free book promo brought me new readers. And instead of wishing for more more more, I’ve decided to treasure every single one of them. I’ve decided to marvel at my own success—God’s success—rather than craning my neck to see what’s happening on someone else’s path next to mine.
This week, I’ve decided to bloom. I’ve decided that it’s okay to take my time. I’ve decided to give thanks for the chance to be here at all, writing and running and learning every day.
Will you?