“I got this! Now on to some minor edits.” I told myself as I went on my merry little way.

As I printed out my little story, I was relieved to be finished with the drafting phase. The printer chimed happily, I had enough paper and enough ink! It was a good day.

This particular piece had taken more out of me than I had thought it would, especially considering it was below my pay grade and NOT the type of stuff that inspires existential thought (pretty bold assumptions for someone who hasn’t earned anything yet). It was a fast paced story, had romance woven throughout, and was on the lighter side of life. Easy peasy right? This is the kind of stuff writers write in their sleep.

I had this!

Almost as an after thought, I printed it off to give it to my first beta reader. In case the phrase is new, beta readers are those “preliminary readers” who give you feedback before your work goes onto formal edits. They’re like a writers cheering section and critique team, all rolled into one. Brilliant, right?

Confession: my first beta reader has always been my mom. I knew she’d be gentle and knew a bit about the story, but foremost she was a willing and avid reader. Plus my mom wasn’t going to be harsh. She would likely tell me what I wanted to hear: that my little book was angelically inspired, that it was perfect (except for a few minor- minor mind you- grammatical errors) and that I was hands down the most gifted person she had ever met. This is in the job description of motherhood right?

After handing it off, Mom started reading it and got about a third of the way through and she seemed to be enjoying it! Well of course, right?

I’m confident; I’m resting in my work “well done.”

Then she sends me a text:

“I finished it and I have a few suggestions. When do you need it back?”

*I break into a nervous sweat*

Of course, she has a few suggestions, no need to worry! That’s why I wanted another pair of eyes!

I’m confident; I got this remember?

Then we have the conversation and the conversation kinda stings. Turns out my mom, my mother who is supposed to be unabashedly biased towards my unmitigated glory, suggested some major rewriting.

She said (I paraphrase): “It was flowing until it got to this part, then you lost with me with this character, he was hard to believe and felt forced. Also this part and this part felt hard to believe. Did this happen in the actual story that you based it on?”

*Gasp*

This was a MAIN character and my darling plot, mind you. This wasn’t possible! My advanced and inspired gifting’s could not possibly produce a character or plot that seemed less than believable. She had to be wrong and I’m sure someone else wouldn’t see it that way! I’m sure that someone else would see that the piece only needed a few grammatical errors fixed. That’s all! That was the assignment.

I was at a crossroads: I could justify my position and my story, or I could really evaluate her suggestions. I didn’t have to take her advice (like she said this was just what she saw and she could be wrong). I didn’t want to, because I had mentally moved past that stage. I didn’t want to, because a partial rewrite would be a major inconvenience. I didn’t want to, well, because of my pride.

When the sting wore off, I sat with her suggestions. When I stopped licking my hurt pride, I began to evaluate my story more critically. I began to question my initial approach. I prayed, asking the master Creator, the One who knew my name, to help me know how to move forward with one of my own little creations.

Inspiration came, ideas came and an alternative plot came.

I’m currently in the process of fleshing them out and they still may have a ways to go, but I think my story is going to be better. I think I’m on the right track.

I too, am becoming better through the process.

Like so many of my creative endeavors, I see these tendencies mirrored in my own life. I go along thinking “God, I got this! No need for intervention!” I roll along feeling like I’m on top of the world and that I’ve made so much progress already, that I certainly couldn’t be sinning or falling short in the same areas that I was before. God was busy fixing all the other screw-ups around me, those who lacked my gifting and self-awareness. I’ve moved on in my sanctification; God has already given me the gold star and the assignment is complete.

I find however, that the Master Editor has a different pace in mind. He isn’t afraid to speak truth to my calloused heart, even if it isn’t what I want to hear. He loves me too much (a little like my mom, I think). He doesn’t want to see me floundering in a work that is not quite “well done,” yet. The beautiful thing about conviction is that it may hurt for a time, but I’m left far better for it in the end. It’s a healing hurt, a hurt that presses passed my pride and sinks into my soul.

I, for one, am thankful that he doesn’t leave us shoddy, half-baked, work-in-progress’s, as Philippians 1:6 promises. I’m thankful that he loves us enough to peel back our layers, sit with us and speak the truth that only the One, who created us, could.

I never want to shrink back from the editing process because of discomfort or the work required or because it crucifies my pride. I want to press on until He writes His nature into my very fibers, etches His fingerprints into my soul and creates a living book with my life. Very much like my current project, I’m letting the editing do its work, so that He can say “well done” at the end of it.