by Dan Baumgartner

As many of you know, Bethany’s Kimberlee Conway Ireton has been writing a book about the Liturgical Calendar for InterVarsity Press. We asked her a few questions, wondering what goes on in one’s soul during the writing process.

What happens in my soul when you write?

Writing is one of the only activities or times in which I cease being self-conscious. My sense of myself sort of dissolves because I am so inextricably caught up in the process of creating meaning out of these 26 symbols that can be combined in almost infinite ways to say almost anything. Perhaps that is what happens in my soul—I become connected in a small but real way to the Infinite, the God who takes the building blocks of a handful of elements and combines them in amazing and complex ways to create the whole universe from the vastest galaxies to the tiniest protozoa.

Where does God meet you?

Oh my. Where doesn’t God meet me? From getting the contract to finding people to interview to the actual writing and revising, God’s fingerprints are evident. I see that most clearly in the fact that I was able to finish this book even though, when I got my book contract, I had a three-year old son and a three-month-old daughter—and only eight hours of childcare each week.

Each day that I worked on my book, I prayed that God would make it possible for me to do more than I knew I could do, and started writing. Some days, it felt obvious that God was working, and I wrote or revised far more than I expected to be able to. Other days, it felt like I was pulling teeth to even get words on the page. Somehow, I managed to finish my book in the time outlined in my contract. That alone speaks volumes to me of God’s grace and faithfulness.

Where do you struggle with God?

To be quite honest, in the writing itself, I don’t struggle with God. It is afterward, when I am showing my writing to others that the struggle begins, and then it is a struggle not with God but with myself and my own insecurities: Did I hear correctly? Is this really true? Will others realize my writing is smarter than I am? Will that make them think I’m a fake, a hypocrite?

I also struggle to let my work stand on its own, without hovering over it, second-guessing it, apologizing for it, explaining it, downplaying it. My task at this point is to trust that God was present in the process, to trust that even if I didn’t hear all the Holy Spirit said or hear it all correctly, my faithful attempt to speak what is true is all God asks of me. In short, God does not require perfection—only faithfulness.

And here again God meets me, reminding me that I am God’s beloved daughter, God’s delightful friend, not because of what I write or how well I write or what people think of what I write, but simply because I am who I am—and because God is who God is.