Thinking About Faith

by Mary Bradley McCauley

   Not the religious, trust in God faith, but faith in oneself. Believing in
yourself to the extent you are willing to face the possibility of criticism or
failure. To overcome self inflicted doubts that chip away at your ego, takes
courage. It is what I need at this time of my life. Faith, the courage to step
out and face the possibility of failure.       
       
  What I am about to undertake is a bold step for me, a monumental test of faith. I am
stepping into a world of potential rejection and criticism. If for a moment I quiver
with a tinge of fear, I tell myself it is only a small       
stroke on the canvas of my life. It is with slightly trembling hands that I lift the
palette, blend the colors, and envision the portrait of my future.       
         
   For a moment I pull out the old portraits framed in my memory. One is of a wife and
mother surrounded by six small children. It is a watercolor, the soft brush strokes
of love mingling with glowing accents of pride. Next is the     
career woman leading groups of senior citizens on exciting tours. This is a collage
of brightly colored adventures.        
       
   It is an unfinished work that holds my appraising eye. The Writer. The background of
forgotten manuscripts creates a gray skyline of neglected ambitions. Poems without
meter, plays without plots, novels without twists, and syntax without style, blend
with time worn clichés. Timid hands of a faithless amateur sketched this unfinished
portrait. There are no splashes of creative genius, only lack luster dabs at
lifeless prose.       
       
   Writing was something I did because I had to. Words formed in my mind and nagged at
me until I put them on paper. Characters created scenarios that blasted me until I
released their voices. The muse became my nemesis, cajoling me with pretentious
ideas of literary worth. I would write until the urge was spent, then place the
pages into a file drawer. Over the years they were transferred to a trunk. Fear of
failure, fear of criticism, fear of rejection sealed the trunk. I had no faith in my
talent.       
       
   Placating my Muse was sometimes a battle. I was too busy raising a family, having a
career, and earning a living. I made false promises. "When I have more time", "when
things slow down," I silently communicated to the Muse.       
       
   Feeble attempts were made with notations in a journal and letters to family. I wrote
a play. It's in the trunk. I created a poem. It's in the trunk. I scribbled
philosophy, started a novel, developed a fairy tale for my grandchildren. They all
reside in the trunk.       
       
   As my mind's eye stares at the unfinished portrait I ask myself what is the worst
that can happen? Rejection slips from editors, bad reviews from critics? I can't get
rejection slips or bad reviews if I never send anything to be published. The worst
thing that can happen is that I can fail as a writer. Would that be so devastating?
Should I allow fear of failure to rob me of the courage to try?       
       
   Fear of failure is a lack of faith. It can inhibit the ideas of an inventor; still
the voice of a singer; blind the eyes of an artist; barricade the path of an
adventurer. It can also be the catalyst to success. It can drive one to do their
best. Facing the fear of failure plants the seeds of faith that can become the
landscape of dreams.       
       
   In the final analysis, I realize that leaving the portrait unfinished would be the
worst failure. It is with this thought in mind that I have decided to dip my brush
in the vibrant colors of faith, and boldly paint the portrait       
of the writer.       
 
Mary Bradley McCauley
Author--'The House of Annon'
http://mypeoplepc.com/members/sismc/thehouseofannon/
mbradleymc@yahoo.com