A week removed from my time at AWP ’15 (with all 14,000+ people), I find myself missing a particular community of writers of faith that I’ve come to know to and love these last few years. I find myself thankful to be a part of a community wherein there’s encouragement, humor, generosity, and fellowship.
I’ll admit to feeling inadequate and embarrassed at times because everyone (it seems to me) is so much more accomplished and skilled than I. They write prose so rich, lineation so heartbreaking, metaphor so overwhelming–I feel awed to even know them.
If I’m forthright, there’s also jealousy, envy, and covetousness that I battle. And yet at the same time I am learning to rejoice in the success of others (without bemoaning my perceived lack thereof), as well as to mourn with those who mourn.
As I write this on a Sunday evening, the sun not yet set in my west-facing office window, I think of these lovely people across the country, having read today, having written today, having worshiped today, have spent time with or apart from family, and I wish them well on the journey we share, waiting for when I will next experience their genuine fellowship.