Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
It was so close I could taste it. I’d been given some contacts in the publishing world by a friend who’d just published his third book. I made contact with each and every one of them. And I actually heard back from each and every one of them. And all of them were immediate denials. Except one. This particular publisher and I discussed my book and the possibility of it getting into print for nearly five months. The man with whom I made contact was gracious. He was kind. He was encouraging. And then he turned me down. He explained to me that the committee wasn’t sure how well a book like mine would do in the world. He said that since I didn’t read any books at the time of Chris’ confession in February of 2002, that they wondered if anyone else would. I wanted to explain to this man that when I went through what I went through over six years ago that there were no books for me to read. One of the books I eventually purchased, Every Heart Restored: A Wife’s Guide to Healing in the Wake of a Husband’s Sexual Sin, was published in 2004. I was two years into the process when it came out. Apparently, pornography and infidelity in Christian marriages is a hush-hush subject. Who knew? I will not lie to you. I wanted this book deal. I wanted to sign the first copy and give it to my mother. I wanted her to see her baby girl’s name on the front cover as a published author. I wanted it. Bad. Even though I knew that God ultimately had and still has my life in his hands, I was disappointed. I cried some. Some tears were from the death of what I thought would happen. Some where from anger. Some were because I would now be telling everyone who’d been praying that I was rejected. Yet here I am today. Nothing fancy going on with me. I don’t speak to groups of people about our struggles. I don’t get invited to attend conferences so that our story can be told. I don’t do book signings. I just answer email after email after email, week in and week out, every…single…week. Emails from women, and the occasional man, asking for help. Asking how I learned to trust again. Asking what they should do in their situation. Asking me, little ole me, for guidance as they begin their journey down a road I’ve been on for a while. And I wonder sometimes had I gotten that book deal, would I have invested this much into a web log called cindybeall.com? I don’t know. I just don’t know. What I do know is this. My Redeemer lives. He’s got the whole world in His hands. Not one of my tears falls to the ground without Him noticing. And He is absolutely about the business of healing.