I spent the morning working, like every Tuesday. In the afternoon, the house was full of children. My friend had a few errands to run, so I offered to watch her three little ones, my three were thrilled by their addition to the mix here. The six-under-seven all played while I cut up apples for a snack, poured water into plastic cups, made sure that every one was being included in hide and seek. I quickly checked my email in the kitchen, and there it was: the long awaited official book contract from the big city lawyers, sent out to the Canadian west, on a regular Tuesday afternoon in August, while tinies shrieked and ran about the house. “You forgot 14!”
I didn’t have time to read through it, so I emailed it to Brian, he printed it off, brought it home. I sat at the kitchen table, it’s a cheap white Ikea table, covered in gouges, stained with paint from art sessions, and the chairs are a little filthier than I would like them to be. After I had cleaned up the supper dishes, we read through it carefully, Anne standing waiting in her soccer uniform for a ride, there was rice stuck to the floor.
I touched the thick white paper with my finger tips, let my eyes rest on the first page for a long while, the address in New York, the Big 6 name, the whole thing. This is as good as it gets, my wonderful agent tells me, and she’s right, so I savoured.
There weren’t words for this moment, I sat in silence, my husband was watching me carefully, no doubt gauging his reaction to mine. I whispered something about how I couldn’t imagine how this had happened, how I wasn’t really worthy of this, how this all feels so much bigger than me, and, like, whoa, and I felt the weight of responsibility, the weight of my humanity and mistakes and my own flawed voice, I felt the weight of glory, too.
Back when I signed the agreement with Rachelle for her representation, I laughed with joy, and pounded steering wheels, and danced. But this?
No jumping up and down or shrieking. I felt hushed, thankful for my bare feet, every centimetre of my skin. I turned through the pages, reading legal clauses and addendum, I sat for a while, just looking at my name, Sarah Bessey, it said, Author.
Then I signed the contract for a two-book deal with Simon & Schuster’s Howard Books.
Jesus Feminist: Life on the Other Side of our Church’s Gender Debates will be published by Howard Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, in 2013. I’m so thrilled to be working with this team, I feel like this is a God-connection somehow, and I’m right where I was meant to be, this work is right where it is meant to be, and we’re in it together.
Here’s the little intro video that I made for it, back in April.
And then, you’ll have to hold my hand, I’ll be writing the tentatively titled, Recovering Know-It-All: How a Cynical Follower of Jesus Fell Back in Love with the Church. I’ve quietly worked out this second book, based on my own experiences over the past ten years of my struggle and restoration with the beautiful Bride, and I am so excited about it, so hopeful, I can hardly stand.
So there’s my news.
This morning, I stood at the post office, filling out paperwork, surrounded by my little family. The postal worker was so excited for me when she saw the contracts, we took pictures, my hand shook writing out the addresses, Brian was adamant for Priority Post with tracking numbers and then, away it went.
Here we go.
(fearless…deep breath….fearless…deep breath)
I would appreciate your prayers, if you would come alongside of me, friends? This will be quite a journey, and I feel it swirling. My friend Amber said that it will be a whirlwind, and I believe her.
And thank you, again, always, for doing life with me.