We have to be willing to begin again
This is true of failures in writing, in faith, in life itself.
During times of turbulence in politics, culture, and religious life, it’s tempting to hold tightly to current convictions. Allowing a change of one’s mind or heart can be difficult work. With this in mind, we have resumed a Century series published at intervals since 1939, in which we ask leading thinkers to reflect on their own struggles, disappointments, and hopes as they address the topic, “How my mind has changed.” This essay is the ninth in the new series.
I was addressing a group at a writing retreat when someone raised a familiar question: “What are you working on now?” In the past I always had a ready answer, but the subject had recently become painful for me. Suddenly I saw an opportunity to enlist the group’s help.
Most of them had read one or more of my books and were well-disposed toward my writing. So I decided to read excerpts from a book in progress about my younger sister Rebecca, whose brain was damaged at birth due to medical errors. Considered “borderline,” Becky was intelligent enough to know what had happened to her—a terrible burden that led to emotional suffering later in her life. But when she was young, she used it to her advantage.
