I’ve done some soul searching lately. Should I keep writing books? Am I really good enough to be an author?

It’s been on my mind. A lot. This battle in my heart. A heaviness in my soul these past several weeks. Since I was eight years old, I’ve wanted to be an author, but now I’m just not sure I have what it takes to really cut the mustard at it. It all started when I read my Goodreads reviews on my first book. I confess I don’t know much about Goodreads, and didn’t even know I had reviews there until recently. Honestly, I’ve been afraid to read my reviews. I kind of watch them on Amazon with one eye closed. I don’t like to see reviews, though as a reader, I find them helpful and understand their purpose.

So I finally really looked at all my reviews and I’m a four star writer. Some of you know what this means, but perhaps many of you don’t. On Amazon, on Goodreads, books are ranked by stars. Five stars is tops. Four stars is well… four stars. Okay, so I have like four and a half stars on Amazon, which is important, right? Even I know half a star shouldn’t be important. War in Syria is important. The state of our divided country is important. A meteor hitting our planet and wiping out the human race is important. But I’m confessing to you my angst over reviews because I’m learning something about myself. And about God here.

Why do I write? Really, why do I do it, and is good really good enough?

When I embarked on this author road last year, I contacted an older writer I deeply admire. I told him I was about to publish a book on Amazon. Could he offer me any advice? He said, “Well, if you can write a four star book, you’ll be good to go.”

A four star book? Why not five stars? I wondered.

But I didn’t ask him why not five stars because talking to this writer is like talking to Francine Rivers or John Grisham or Anne Lamott. You don’t question the greats this way. I know Anne Lamott thinks differently than I do about George W. Bush and other political stuff, but she’s still one of my favorite writers. She’s honest and funny and can make a sentence sing a beautiful song.

I never knew Lamott was a four star writer until I looked her up on Amazon today. She even has some three star books. Grisham is a four star writer across the board. Redeeming Love has earned Rivers five stars, but most of her books rate four and a half stars.

Why has four stars discouraged me? I’ve always known I’m not a great writer. Grit and determination have gotten me further than anything else as a writer. Last night I lay in bed thinking about why four stars isn’t good enough for me. This was before I knew my favorite writers don’t always write five star books. In fact, most of them don’t.

Why do I need to be a great writer anyway? I’ve never been great at anything in my life. Not once. I’m not a great mom. Not a great wife. I was never a great student. But I’ve always been good at stuff. Growing up, I got good grades, but my older brother was valedictorian in high school. Patrick was class president too. Not only smart, but voted best-looking in his senior class, and an athlete as well. Long ago, I resigned myself to just being good. My brother was the great one.

I know. I’m sorry. I sound whiny. But I really want to address something here. Is good really good enough?

You know, from a human standpoint, good goes a long way in life. Very few of us are masters at anything. Most of us are apprentices at everything. If we’re fortunate, we are growing in our careers. Growing in our marriages. Growing as parents as our kids grow up. I think I’m a better parent now than I was twenty years ago. Our older kids might argue this, however. Over Christmas vacation Luke was here for dinner and his little brother Cruz was crawling under the table while we were eating. “Are you really going to let him get away with that?” Luke asked Scott and me with a look of indignation on his 19 year old face. “You would have spanked me for that at his age!”

“Ya, well, we’re old and tired now,” Scott said with a smile.

“You know, Luke, you’re right,” I said. “Cruz, get out from under the table!”

Scott backed me up, and our five-year-old returned to his chair, and minded his manners for the rest of the meal. Later, Scott and I agreed we must hold to manners at the table. We don’t want our younger boys acting like hooligans in the kitchen. But you know it just isn’t a big deal to us anymore if your butt is anchored to your chair the whole time at dinner. Our meals are a lot more fun now with our second family because we’ve relaxed.

In day to day life, good serves me pretty well. Good goes a long ways in just about everything. But how far does good go in our walk with God?

Jesus said, “Why do you call me good? No one is good–except God alone” Luke 18:19.

Well this puts things in perspective. No person is good. Last night at Bible study, during a discussion with our group, we talked about what makes us worthy to enter the presence of God. On some days as a Christian, I skip to my lou into the presence of God. Here I am. Doing good today. Aren’t you pleased with me, God?

On other days, I crawl on my hands and knees into the presence of God. Here I am. Doing lousy today. Are you going to smite me, God?

Neither of these approaches are Biblical or even helpful for us. When we come to God, we never come to Him on our own merit or worth or goodness. We roll in on a river of blood. Not our own blood and sweat and tears, but the Savior’s blood, sweat, and tears. Jesus paid it all for us to meet with the Father. And ultimately join in the wedding feast in heaven someday. We get to go because Jesus died on that cross for us to go. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. The blood of the Lamb ushers us into the presence of God.

Last night I reminded myself why I write. It’s because God made me a writer. “Does the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you making?’ Does your work say, ‘The potter has no hands’?” Isaiah 45:9. Should I say to God, “Why did you make me good and not great?” 

No, I roll in on a river of blood and say, “Thank you for dying for me. The truth is, without Jesus, I probably wouldn’t be a good mom. A good wife. A good writer. I’ve prayed like crazy to be all of these things in my life, and when I fail, which sometimes I do, I’ve always found, “His grace is sufficient for you, for his power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 2 Corinthians 12:9.

I few months ago, I had a go around with God over speaking. A number of churches had invited me to talk at some ladies retreats in the fall and I was feeling like an impostor. Like they would soon find out I couldn’t speak worth a hoot and would want their money back. I’m just kidding. I don’t charge for speaking, but some churches give a love offering and I run out and buy groceries for the boys like I’ve just won the lottery or something.

“I’m not good at speaking,” I told the Lord in my fit of tears and self-pity. “I’m going to look so stupid up there! It’s going to be a flop. Like that awful, embarrassing belly flop I did at the public swimming pool when I tried to dive off the diving board in front of all those kids. There I was, ten-years-old, white and freckled in my T-shirt with other girls all tan in bikinis. Landing so hard on my stomach I knocked the wind out of myself and thought I would drown in that pool. I’m not good at diving so I will never dive again. Diving boards aren’t my thing.

There it is, the cold, hard truth. If I’m not good at something, I don’t do it. Pride gets me every time. My eyes are on myself. Gazing at my own navel, which by the way, isn’t a cute little inny belly button like most girls. I have an outy, which until I was about thirty, I hid like it was a sixth toe or a tail on my backside or something. On top of everything else, I don’t have a great belly button. I don’t even have a good belly button. It did the job and fed me while connected to my mother’s womb so I was born.

I know. Are you tired of me yet? Sometimes I get so tired of myself. Have you ever felt that way? Just plain tired of yourself? Worn out by all the things you aren’t enough of? You aren’t thin enough? Tall enough? Smart enough? Pretty enough? I’ve decided it cost a fortune to hold onto pretty and I can’t afford the clothes, the face cream, the hair highlights, yada yada yada. When you’re twenty a ponytail and a pair of cute shorts does the job. When you’re forty-nine it’s a whole new hen house. Women my age are getting botox. The thought of putting poison in my face kind of scares me. I think I’ll keep my wrinkled face. I think I’ve earned this wrinkled face, thank you very much.

In my fit of tears while telling God I couldn’t be a speaker, I heard the Lord say, “You’re not a speaker. You just have to tell people about me. How hard is that?”

Not hard at all because there’s so much to say about God. I could talk all day about the goodness of God and still have more to say. I think this is my biggest problem. I forget it’s about God and think it’s about me. About my wrinkles, my outy belly button, my lack of ability to write a great book. I’m like the Godzilla bride. This is my wedding day! It’s all about me!

Ugh!

I will never be good enough. And my wedding day nearly 30 years ago was a bit of a disaster. I wasn’t a Godzilla bride, but I’d set my mind to being a sober bride because I’d gone to a wedding where the bride got drunk and I thought it was so tacky so I didn’t touch alcohol the day I said I do. In hindsight, a glass of champagne would have done me some good. I didn’t tell Scott of my sober plan and he proceeded to get sloshed at our reception. I’ve seen my husband hammered maybe three times, and one of these was our wedding day. I wanted to divorce him right then. I wanted to stab him in the heart as the DJ played our first song, Stand By Me. I didn’t want to stand by Scott, I wanted to drown him in the punch bowl over there by the wedding cake.

But you know what?

I didn’t drown him.

I loved him.

I forgave my husband the next morning, gave him mercy, and just loved him. And we had a delicious honeymoon.

This is what God does for us. He forgives how we get drunk on ourselves, whether we think we’re top dog or a dead dog in life, and God helps us get our eyes back on Him. You will never be good enough, but because of Jesus you are forgiven, offered mercy, and are loved.