The Power of the Positive

Last week, I was pretty thrilled at the prospect of getting a (FREE!) printing press on which to begin my letterpress future. Sure, I was overwhelmed at the thought of it. Sure, I was unsure as to where I was going to house it. It crossed my mind that I'm not tied to Birmingham, and could well be gone from it in the scheme of a few months. I'm flying fancy free, why would I want to acquire a 1500 lb. piece of equipment that could, quite literally, weigh me down? I recognized that the press being offered was of a different variety than the ones that I learned and labored on at Penland just a few months ago. Sure, I didn't feel ready.

But, it was free.

But, when I saw it....

Oh, how I remembered the surge of energy I felt when I first turned out my own letterpressed good. I could feel my heart beat loud in my chest as I ran my fingers along the cold metal frame. This could be mine. I could start NOW.

I immediately looked at a potential studio space downtown.

I called these folks.

I set up an appointment with a business consultant.

You see, I teeter back and forth between this constant tension, this humble uncertainty of when to think and when to act. I know there is a time and a season for everything. I guess I'm just sometimes uncertain when I'm being beckoned to live, versus when I'm being taught patience.

So, turns out, the press was promised someone else. I know it to best. I don't think I was ready. I've got so much more to learn, so much more to save. And I realize the time in between now and the acquisition of my own press is not time wasted. I've got teachers here. I've got (however limited) access to others' equipment. I've got resources.

But, more than anything else, I've got the peace that this story is still being written.

I'm currently reading Donald Miller's latest in which he discusses the makings of a good story. It took a failed attempt to make a compelling movie out of his own life for him to realize he wasn't living a good enough story.

Our lives are pages, folks. I'm dead set on making the book of my life an interesting read. Sometimes I feel like I'm living through Grapes of Wrath-esque non-plot advancing chapters of endless (however beautiful) prose. But, hear this:

I do trust the Author.

I do trust the Author.

I do trust the Author.