Glory Be ~ by Rachel Allord

Rachel Allord writes from central Wisconsin. A pastor’s wife and adoption advocate, Rachel speaks for women’s conferences and adoption groups and teaches writing classes via her town’s university. You can find Rachel on her website, Twitter, and Facebook
Glory Be
If we’re not
careful, we writers can be an
egocentric bunch. We love our work, love to coddle and relish and fuss over our
words, and if someone fails to appreciate our literary flair we tend to get the
tiniest bit defensive.
Published or pre-published,
rejections, unfavorable book reviews, and criticism are hard pills for a writer
to swallow. Yet for as unwelcome as they these ego jabs are, they produce
humility and help us become better writers and, hopefully, better people.
Because it’s that twentieth rejection letter or caustic review that prompts us
to wrestle with a crucial question: why
am I doing this?
why am I writing?
Naturally, writing starts
with us. (I have to get this story out of
) But in time, hopefully, our motivation becomes others—to please,
entertain, enlighten, or serve others.
Our audience. Yet ultimately, for those who are striving to follow Christ, all
of our reasons for writing—feeding our inner artist and impacting an audience—should hinge on our desire to write for God’s
glory. To show Him off. To put Him in
the spotlight.
Writing for God’s glory.
It sounds a bit lofty, doesn’t it? But often we complicate matters and
conveniently shut our ears to any possibility that doesn’t neatly align with
our agenda—like the fact that seeing our name on the cover of a book isn’t a promise
from God but “I will not share my glory with another” is.
Here’s the truth, if we
can handle it: writing for God’s glory may not match the visions in our
ever-imaginative mind. It may mean that our readership is small—much smaller
than we’d hoped. Writing for God’s glory might mean that we’ll “only” be
writing for church. Or for our local newspaper. Or writing letters to kids in
third world countries. Or inmates behind bars.
Writing for God’s glory
means we are open to whatever he has for us. It means working hard, no doubt,
honing our craft, heeding the advice of those we’ve come to respect in the
industry, but holding all of that loosely—so loosely that if God so chooses to
pluck that passion from our heart and replace it with another one, we’d be okay
with that.
Easy words to type out;
harder words to live out.
I know. I’ve been there.
After over a decade of
writing and rewriting and rejections and praying and conference-going, the day
I sent my full novel proposal of Mother
of My Son
to my now publisher was one of the darkest days ever in my
personal life. As my finger hovered over my keyboard, poised to launch my baby,
a daunting and startling truth hit me: getting my story published, the story I
loved so much, hardly mattered. Not in the moment.
My once burning desire to
be a published novelist was now a mere flicker. You’ve been there at some point
I’m sure; you know how quickly unexpected troubles shift everything into proper
perspective, how sorrow can cultivate humility.
And humility is a glorious
thing. Or to be more precise, humility, ironically, is the forerunner to glory.
We are after all, no matter how many words we can churn out in a day, no matter
how many accolades we’ve received or haven’t received, no matter how many books
we’ve published or dreamed of publishing, ordinary jars of clay. Ordinary,
crude even, vessels made to showcase a fragment of God’s glory.
Right now we’re smack dab
in the middle of crazy Christmas season, that fleeting time of year when we
repeatedly sing out and prolong the word gloria.  As we sing, as we live, as we click away on
our keyboards—dare we ask?
Who’s getting the glory?

College student Amber Swansen gives birth alone. In desperation, she
abandons the newborn, buries her secret, and attempts to get on with her life.
No matter how far she runs, she can’t escape the guilt. Years later and still
haunted by her past, Amber meets Beth Dilinger. Friendship blossoms between the
two women, but Beth’s son is a constant, painful reminder to Amber of the child
she abandoned.
heartache hits, causing Amber to grapple with the answers to life’s deeper
questions, Beth stands by her side. Yet just when peace seems to be within
Amber’s grasp, the truth of her past and the parentage of Beth’s son comes to
light and threatens to shatter not only their worlds, but the life of the
teenager they both love.