In early 1993, I pitched a book idea to Thomas Nelson Publishing and a movie concept to a producer on the set of Iron Will, and within a month both offered me opportunities to move forward.
While working full-time, I created a tight eight-month plan with two critical deadlines: August 1 for the book and October 1 the screenplay. But then my wife Susie threw me a curveball. She'd had enough of living in town and wanted us to go house-hunting so we could move to the country that year. To do all three felt like more than I could handle. I countered with this: she could go house hunting with a friend and after August 1 I would go see what they found.
Sure enough, she brought me to look at a house on August 2, and by the end of the week we were owners of 8+ acres, a house and two garages--his and hers. By October we moved in and the screenplay was completed as well.
Here are a few select entries from my journal that summer.
Seeds / Journal Notes
the furnace for gold.
The Lord tries hearts.
D.H. writes of our tendency as grapes to complain about the instruments God chooses when crushing us to produce holy wine.
June 23, 1993
Monday Ralph had a dream that I brought him two Bibles. Afterwards he said, “Who gave me this dream?” I suggested that when he reads the Bibles, he’ll find out.
June 30, 1993
We remember our dreams to our own peril.
June 30, 1993
At root I am depressed by the thought that I am not going to “make it” as a writer. That is, that I do not have the drive, the “neurotic passion” that is sufficient to make it. That is, I allow other things to distract me, diffuse my energy, divert me from my course. I am not writing every day, every night. And even though I am far more productive than my peers, it seems that I create illusions that give the impression that I am much more than I am. Do I have what it takes? Or am I just a small peeper making big noises that carry with the wind?
July 2, 1993
Our lives are written in time like words upon a scroll, with none of it to be erased.
July 3, 1993
I have labored these many years to produce a body of work. Today it seems so small… with so many stories yet to tell.
July 5, 1993
There were four of us, brothers… till the four winds scattered us ‘cross the wild unwatered plains while the seeds of future dreams are nourished by private wells.
July 17, 1997
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