Whenever someone tells me they love Come Matter Here, I match their level of excitement.

“It’s such a good book,” I beam with excitement. I know that might come off as proud or a little bit arrogant but Come Matter Here being my favorite book written to date has little to do with me being the author of it.

Writing Come Matter Here was one of the most sacred seasons of my life.  Lane and I were newlyweds sharing a loft in Atlanta. I would pull myself from bed every morning at 5 am and climb upstairs into my writing loft. There I would stay for the next 3 hours or so, clacking away on my keyboard and talking to myself furiously. That’s how you can tell I am in a writing groove if you ever see me at a coffee shop– I’ll be talking to myself as I type.

Don’t get me wrong: getting up to the writing loft was still incredibly difficult. I wanted to stay in bed. I wanted to pull the covers over me and sleep for a few more hours. I think it’s a romanticized myth that all writers look forward to the writing hours. Every time I sit down to write, it still feels like jumping into an icy cold pool and figuring out how to swim again for the one-thousandth time.

I’d get up to the loft, a blanket still wrapped around me and a coffee in hand. I’d light a candle and look over the outline. I’d say a prayer. Never a simple prayer. Never an “I’ve got this– thanks for the inspo, God,” prayer. This was a pleading prayer that often sounded like, “Hey God, I can’t do this work without you. I mean it. If you don’t show up, I’m not going to have anything to say.”

That’s how writing Come Matter Here felt– like I was in a constant tangle of pleading prayers with God. There were so many days when I was certain I didn’t have anything to say. I would give the topic to God and the words would come rushing out of me like they’d been there all along.

That’s why I can confidently say Come Matter Here is a very good book– it was downloaded into me, morning after morning. It belonged to God and still belongs to God. I felt him tangibly in the writing room and I would be in awe of the words he wrote through me– that awe would carry me through each day.

I’m writing this piece today with urgency because I’ve been feeling deflated lately about writing. My creativity is surging in other areas but, when it comes to book writing, I feel stuck. 

This morning, as I sat with my Bible and my journal, I read a passage in a book I got from the library yesterday. The words felt like they were pinching my skin– waking me up to an idea I’d forgotten somehow: It’s not on me. It’s not on me to create the most beautiful thing or write the best book. I’ll miss the beauty in the process if I forget to partner with my Creator.

We live in a culture of constant feedback and praise. It’s very easy to start thinking highly of ourselves when people are commenting on our days, our disciplines, and our creations. We can start to think it’s all on us, that we are here to churn out content and feed the beast of social media.

But the magic you and I are looking for can’t be found on social media. It’s found in the quiet. It’s found in the unplugging from what everyone thinks to get back to basics. It’s found in sitting before God and pleading through prayer, “I can’t do this on my own. Will you come and partner with me?”

He always will. I promise you– he will always partner with you. 

If we forget that partnership, we step into dangerous territory. A territory that inflates us and makes us believe we can do this thing called “life” all on our own. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to take another step forward without the divine hand of God on everything I touch. My creations. My relationships. My steps and my rhythms.

Whenever I can’t wrap myself around the idea of partnering with God, I think back to Moses. If you’re unfamiliar– pick up your Bible today and start reading Exodus (it’s my favorite book in the Bible). You’ll be amazed at the partnership forged between God and Moses. They dialogue regularly. With every step Moses takes, he gets with God first. He is the first picture of intimacy with our Heavenly Father that we see mapped out for us in the text. It’s an ongoing, every moment sort of thing and it’s stunningly beautiful. 

All throughout the Scripture, God partnered with his people. He wants to partner with me and you. 

What would change about our lives if we forged a partnership with God in all things? If we stopped carrying the heavy loads and started back with the pleading prayers, trusting he would shoulder the big things for us?

Flannery O’Connor once wrote in her private prayer journal, “Don’t let me ever think, dear God, that I was anything but the instrument for Your story-just like the typewriter was mine.”

It’s not on you to do it all. Not even a little bit. Release the grip of control and ask God to step in and partner with you. I promise, there will be fruit. 

God works through you.

God works in you.

God works with you.

I’d love to hear from you:

In moving my blog to a newer platform, I sadly had to let go of the thousands of comments and conversations that came from readers over the last 10+ years. This grieves me deeply but I know there will new conversations, fresh words of wisdom, and opportunities to create close community once again. I’d love to hear from you in the comments section. I’ll be reading + replying on a regular basis.