A Manuscript of Sunrises

Last week, I got a note rejecting my poetry.  In some ways, that's nothing new, nothing unusual.  I get more rejections than acceptances.

But it was from my dream poetry press, the one I would choose if you said, "We can have any publisher produce your book of poems--just tell us which one."  Again, that's not unusual.  They've rejected me before.  But this time, they kept my manuscript much longer than the last times that I submitted to them.  In this way, I got my hopes up.

Come to find out, they kept my manuscript longer because they got more manuscripts than they usually do.  Sigh.

On the day that I got the notification of rejection, I went for a walk, as I usually do.  I go before sunrise, and I usually get to my little neighborhood lake in time to watch the sky turn colors as the sun rises.  It's usually glorious, and each morning is different in its glory.  Even an overcast sky turns interesting in the face of a sunrise.

I thought about God and sunrises.  If God assembled a manuscript of sunrises, what would be included?  If that manuscript was rejected, would God feel sad?  One thing is certain:  God would keep creating sunrises.

Since I've spent the last month sorting, sorting, sorting, I thought about God and rough drafts.  Does a sunrise have a rough draft?  Does God keep all the rough drafts, and later look through them, looking for inspiration for new sunrises?  Does God keep them thinking there might be a day to return to them and improve them?

I realize I may have pushed this metaphor too far, but it did make me happy to think of God creating sunrises, morning after morning, offering us something different each day.  And it made me feel better about my own rejections.