As I'm trudging through the work on my first novel's rough [and I do mean rough] draft, I can't help but liken myself to the daunting pages on the screen. Obviously, these are my
words, my thoughts, my characters. The draft is, in that sense, a part of me.
But I'm talking about something different.
I'm referring to actually being the rough draft.
It's funny how right you think you've got everything when you're writing. Or at least, I do.
I smile as I come up with the perfect metaphor, a vivid description for what I'm trying to convey.
Naively, I hand it in to my professor.
...Turns out, [and I know this is going to shock you] my work is not nearly as brilliant as I thought. It needed drastic improvements, changes for even my very best sections. It was disheartening. But also, exciting. The process is the fun part, after all. You work and work until the best version finally slaps you in the face.
Kinda like life.
I can always be edited. I can always be rearranged and improved.
The problem is allowing this to happen, allowing the editor to guide me.
So if I'm the rough draft, God must be the editor.
And he is a beautiful, just, and gracious editor, don't you agree?
He always gets it right. His ideas are always the ideal, the perfect ones.
And sometimes this editing process is hard. Sometimes, it just plain sucks. We become immensely fond of what we have written, the pages of our lives. We don't see
any good reason to delete, to start again, to write anew.
He erases the sentences, the metaphors that we think we just can't live without.
Showing us new possibilities, he steers us in directions we couldn't have
fathomed on our own. Out of love, always out of love for his creation.
And though the editing process may be difficult, we know the editor has
us in his hands. We know he cares for us, more than we can ever imagine.
Through him, we can be made into a moving, intriguing, whole stories. Without him,
we remain fragments on the page... incomplete and unfinished.