Thick Skin is for Rhinos

We’ve all heard it. “You need thick skin to be a writer.” 

Photo from Canva

Author and mentor Jerry Jenkins even holds what he calls his “Thick Skin Critique,” where writers can submit a page of their work and watch while he edits and explains. It’s a wonderful learning tool, especially because the writer voluntarily submits himself to it.

I used to agree with the thick-skin philosophy, but over the years—after more rejections than I can count—I’ve become convinced the thick-skin image can cheapen our God-given human feelings and may even rob us of some healthy emotional processing and growth. I often hear people say, “I don’t think I could be a writer. I couldn’t handle the rejections. How do you do it?”

Oddly, the answer matches my answer to the question, “How do you handle praise?”

Throughout my 20 years of leading a church drama team, we’d frequently discuss how as Christian artists we should handle applause and congregational praise. After all, people with other gifts don’t necessarily receive praise. Ushers and technicians and children’s ministry volunteers don’t hear applause. Usually, they don’t hear anything at all until they goof up. Hardly seems fair.

At the same time, disregarding praise and appreciation can come off as false humility at best (“Oh, it was nothing,” or “It was all God”) or as an insult at worst (“Are you kidding? I was terrible!”) Dismissing the other person’s opinion is demeaning and a lousy way of connecting with your audience.

So, what’s the answer?

What worked for us as a drama team and what I’ve taught other Christian writers, is this. When you’re offered praise, whether in the form of a five-star review, kind words spoken face-to-face, or a gushing email from a reader, accept it as you would a lovely rose. Say thank you. Tell them it means a lot because it does. If you receive more than one, collect them into a bouquet. Enjoy their beauty, their fragrance. Relish the confidence they inspire in you.

Then, at the end of the day—because fresh flowers don’t last—lay them at the feet of the One who truly deserves them. The One without whom you couldn’t take a breath, let alone write anything valuable. The One who made you creative—your Creator. Say, “Here, Lord. These belong to you.” Leave them at His feet, where they belong. Start fresh tomorrow.

You might not think the same can be said for thorns sent your way, but I believe it can. I see no point in pretending rejections or bad reviews don’t sting. You’re human. God knows this. It’s far healthier to receive those thorns honestly, collect them into an ugly bouquet, and examine them to see if they might include a sliver of truth from which to learn. Allow yourself to feel the pain, cry if you need to, and get angry if you must. Just don’t use your anger for vindication or to rant on social media about your mistreatment.

Then, at the end of the day, take that bouquet of thorns and lay them at the feet of the only One who can truly handle them. The One who already experienced thorns pressed into his skull and nails hammered through his hands. He’ll receive them gladly because he knows your frailty and He loves you dearly. Say, “Here, Lord. Please take these because I can’t handle them.” Leave them at His feet, where they belong. Start fresh tomorrow.

Your character is tested both by the praise and the criticism that comes to you. Every compliment that graces your ears should ultimately rebound to your heavenly Father. If you hold onto it, pride will eventually infect your heart. Humility comes when you pass the praise to God. Likewise, negative criticism can tear you down, destroy your confidence, and keep you from doing the work God is calling you to do. Next time those thorns come your way, instead of allowing discouragement to take root or telling yourself you have thick skin and thorns don’t bother you, try feeling all the feels and then handing them over. Go through the physical motions with your hands if it helps. Say the words out loud. “Lord, this is for you.”

 “Whoever heeds life-giving correction will be at home among the wise.” Proverbs 15:31 (NIV)

 “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.” I Peter 5:6 (NIV)

The good, good Father

Father’s Day can be a reminder that we’re all just a bunch of wounded little kids, can’t it?

One of the pitfalls of being a published writer is exposing your work—and yourself—to criticism and rejection. I know authors who don’t read reviews of their books because it can be too painful, especially when a negative one comes on an already difficult day.

This happened to me recently. I’ve always read all my online reviews. Though most are positive, some real stinkers show up as well. It proves you can’t please everyone, that readers’ tastes vary. The positive reviews keep you writing, the negative reviews keep you humble—at least in theory. I have even taught other artists tricks for handling both praise and rejection.

But for good reason, this review felt like a personal attack. And when the words come from an anonymous stranger, there’s little you can do. 

You can cry. I did not, although that’s often my go-to reaction. 

You can hit something. I didn’t do that, either. 

You can toss back a handful of chocolate chips. I resisted, this time. 

You can brush it off and tell yourself it doesn’t sting. I knew full well it did. 

You can go on social media, rant about how stupid the reader must be to not “get” what you were trying to say. I’ve seen authors do this. They are looking for someone to defend them, and it works. Until it doesn’t. Either way, it appears unprofessional, immature, and frankly, kind of pathetic.

I distracted myself for an hour with a TV show, and when the show ended, the hurtful words surfaced again. Thankfully, it was bedtime. And thankfully, I have this little routine when I crawl into bed. I recap the events that seem significant from my day—good, bad, or ugly—whatever comes to mind. I thank God for each one, then lay it at his feet. He alone deserves the praise for the good stuff, and He alone can handle the difficult stuff. This is also a good time to confess the wrongs I’m guilty of from that day, as they come to mind, and ask His forgiveness.

Then, as I snuggle down into the sheets, I let my bed and blankets represent God’s warm loving arms around me. I become an infant, cradled in the embrace of a devoted parent—safe, secure, precious. Loved beyond measure by the one who made me. It’s a wonderful way to fall asleep. And it came in handy that night.

The next morning, I looked at the painful book review with fresh eyes. This time, I saw the words of a hurting person wounded by religion. Someone who doesn’t know she can go straight to her Creator who loves her like his little child. This time, I was able to pray for her. And yes, even to shed some tears. For her.

None of this would happen on my own. It does not come from years of church attendance or self-discipline or religious rule-following. It’s a direct result of embracing the truth of God’s commitment to his children. And it’s yours for the asking. You have a good, good Father. It’s who he is. And you are loved by him. In fact, it’s who you are. Loved. By. Him.***

 

“I’ve been carrying you from the day you were born, And I’ll keep on carrying you when you’re old.” (from Isaiah 46)

Happy Father’s Day!

***Lyrics from Good Good Father, Chris Tomlin, 2016

Souls on Display

Today’s the last day for the Student and Member Show on exhibit at the Portage and District Arts Centre. 

I found it nearly impossible to pick favorites, but I’ve narrowed mine to three: Jytte Johnston’s two

Photo by G.Loewen Photography

beautiful stained-glass vases, Gayle Loewen’s inviting “Prairie Pathway” (photo on canvas), and Caleb Hamm’s mesmerizing “Scattered Wampum” (ink and gouache on paper).

If you attended, you no doubt chose different favorites than mine, and that’s what makes art so wonderful.

In her remarks to the opening night crowd, the centre’s Executive Director Margaret Bernhardt-Lowdon spoke about the courage it takes for artists to “put themselves out there.” Their creations are an extension of their very souls, and to put them on display invites comments they may not always be prepared to hear.

As a writer, I could relate. I know how rejection and harsh critique can sting. To date, my three books combined have received over 700 reviews on Amazon—which is great, because more reviews promote more sales; more sales increase the likelihood of a next book. But even though most of those reviews are positive and encouraging, some are downright mean. And because they can post anonymously, reviewers have nothing to lose. This week alone, the following two comments were left by two different people about the same book:

I hated it. Dowdy and uninteresting.

This book was so well written and had so many facets, I couldn’t help but finish it in a day!

You really can’t please everyone. Artists or not, we’re all subject to the criticisms of others—sometimes constructive, often not. How do we deal with it?

Years ago, a wise friend taught me a trick that I used to teach my church drama team and still practice to keep myself grounded. Throughout your day, as you receive both affirming and discouraging words, it’s okay to gather them up and hold them awhile. Like gathering a bouquet of flowers, enjoy the beauty and the fragrance of the applause. And like you would with nasty darts, go ahead and feel the sting of the criticism—don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. But when you lay your head on your pillow at night, take both flowers and darts and place them at the feet of the Master Artist – the one who made you, who understands your heart, and who creates with you – and leave them there. He alone deserves the praise. He alone can heal the wounds. He alone can handle too much of either one.