At lunch break when I entered the cafeteria, I fell in line with every other “wannabe” writer, like chicks following after their mother hens. I targeted one particular instructor and huddled close, waiting for an appropriate moment to banter back and forth about the features of my project. In short, I was consumed with my own agenda.

 Yet inside of me a contradiction emerged:  In one ear I heard my father’s humorous admonitions: “He that tooteth not his own horn, the same shall not be tooted!” In the other ear, my childhood teacher’s voice whispered, “Humble yourself, Humble yourself.” Like an inexperienced acrobat dangling by one leg in the middle of the tightrope—I struggled for balance.

 Embarrassed at my own lack of sensitivity, I observed a fellow journalist as she reached out to a lonely young writer: “Come with me. This workshop will be perfect for you.” Professionals spoke with unaffected joy about the motivation in their writing. I listened in awe. I observed patient coordinators surrender personal conference time, offering helpful words to wandering conferees and hesitant chicks. Each in their own way, by their very actions and words, said, “There you are,” not “Here I am.”

 However, one gregarious hen, with her wings flapping wildly, followed an editor into the ladies restroom. I watched silently as she parked in front of the speaker’s closed door. I could hardly believe what she did next. Still clucking away, the writer stooped down and shoved her manuscript under the editor’s bathroom stall. “Here’s my story,” she crowed. “It’s great. God gave it to me—and I know you’ll love it.”

 I kept clicking on a mental picture of that rude scene, recalling the wise words from another communicator, a Master Teacher—the Real Pro. And I wondered, “What would he say and do?” I remembered reading how he spoke with authority when others—even his own parents—questioned his actions and motives. He offered no put-downs, but with genuine confidence, this young Man-child clearly interpreted His bold actions without hesitation. In my mind, from town to town, I shadowed this Teacher, observing his kind and loving gestures to the lonely, the downtrodden, the insecure, the brash. He never ridiculed others; nor did he promote himself for selfish gains. He was balanced.

 Shy? Not Jesus. Yet He was gentle enough to comfort a frightened child with heaven’s wings. Assertive? Yes, but always with the command of a controlled spirit, tempered by His Father’s love. Was He boastful? Never of Himself, only of His Father. Yet wannabe followers flocked to this remarkable Teacher—He who carved out time for the sick and fearlessly challenged the beautiful and arrogant, He who listened to the friendless and fed the hungry.

 The dilemma may always challenge me as a writer: To crow or not to crow? Is it nobler to speak up boldly, even when we may feel inside, like humble amateurs? After all, if we don’t believe in our hen scratchings, who will? Or should we take up arms against a sea of pride, cowering under false humility as we listen to the voice of our worst critic—self? To do that, or to compare ourselves with more successful authors, might trigger discouragement: Who needs my words, anyway?” If I squawk too much, I’m branded “cocky.” If I tuck my tail feathers, I’m called “chicken.” That struggle is not unique to writers, but extends to the boardroom, the classroom, our workplace, home or church.

 I remembered the great King David. For years in quietness and confidence, he composed his songs to the Good Shepherd. And then one day, someone heard David’s sweet music. Surely in his severe depression, King Saul could benefit from this musician. So someone told the king. And the king called for David. The result? A bestseller! And millions of people today still flock to his soothing Psalms. And all this happened to David without self-promotion.

 And then I heard an inner, inaudible voice. Perhaps it originated from my own field of dreams whispering to me through the massive office doors of editors (not bathroom stalls). Or maybe it was a divine nugget from God Himself, intended only for my ears: “Write it, and they will buy! Listen, and I will teach you.”

 Years later, someone asked me to teach at a writer’s conference. When eager beaks flew open, I tried to drop in helpful nuggets of inspiration and encouragement. When young chicks followed me around, I gave them this advice: “Finding that balance between ‘crowing’ and ‘clucking’ will always be difficult—especially after you’ve tasted a few morsels of success. Because of our humanness, most of us will always struggle with mixed motives. But with practice and experience, you can learn to hone your God-given talent and feel good about telling those editors, ‘I’m egg-cited about this project. I believe it has potential!’”

 But the best thing I can tell novice writers is what I learned the hard way: “Like a musician returning for basic theory lessons, I go back to the basics often—back to a classroom taught by a humble shepherd—a lowly Carpenter. There I can find the answers—and the confidence I really need. *

“Let him who boasts boast in the Lord. For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends.”  2 Corinthians 10:17-18 NIV

 To read another excerpt about facing fearful circumstances, click here.  You can read the rest of the stories I wrote in Eggstra Courage for the Chicken Hearted, and Courage for the Chicken Hearted, along with the experiences of four other “hen” friends. These books will let you know you are not alone. We’ve all faced the same challenges of life. I hope as you read them, they’ll help you gain the courage to soar through those moments with grace and dignity on the wings of God’s love.

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