“Mommy, are you famous?” he asks, as I butter a bagel still hot from the toaster oven.
I laugh a little bit. “No honey, I’m definitely not famous.”
“Nope, not in Lincoln.”
“Honey,” I stop buttering and turn around to look Noah straight in the eye, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not famous anywhere.”
“Really, though, I don’t care much about being famous,” I add. “I’m happy just to write for a few people, knowing that God is glad that I write about him.”
Except for one problem…
I didn’t lie intentionally. In fact, at the time I really did believe that a desire for fame played no part in my writing. In fact I didn’t even know it was baloney until a couple of weeks after that conversation, when “the lists” were published.
“Lady Bloggers that love Jesus, make beautiful art, challenge the Church, and wrestle with theology and generally influence the Church far and wide – with or without a power ranking badge on their website.”
So (if you’re still with me) here’s the ugly part:
I know, I know. It’s gross. Even admitting this gives me the hives. But it’s the truth. Worse, I scrolled through all the comments, too, to see if anyone mentioned me there. And then, to top it all off, I berated myself for not being gracious like the bloggers who weren’t included on the lists but posted encouraging, cheerful comments anyway.
Despite the hivey horror of this admission, two positive results have come of this:
I realized I’m guilty of the same thing around here. As of 9 p.m. yesterday, Graceful included a blogroll over in the right column. I called it “Great Reads.” So how did I decide who was included and who wasn’t? How did I decide who qualified as a “great read” and who didn’t? Yesterday I wondered if I ever hurt a fellow writer who didn’t see himself or herself included in my “Great Reads” list. I don’t know for sure. But I’m guessing probably yes.
I realized I need to pray about this. Seriously. I need to ask God for assistance on this one, to help me focus my writing on him and him alone and to let the comparisons with other writers go, once and for all.
I’m not famous. But I know now that at least a part of me wants to be. And I suspect I seek fame for all the wrong reasons.
What about you? Do you ever crave fame?