[ak-nol-ij-muh
nt]
–noun
1.an act of acknowledging.
2.recognition of the existence or truth of something
3.an expression of appreciation.
4.a thing done or given in appreciation or gratitude.
As a writer, I love those lists at the beginning of books, wherein the author mentions all the people who have contributed something to their finished work. Karen Kingsbury writes paragraphs, letters almost, to each member of her family that appear in her books before the first chapter begins. Most authors feel compelled to say something about those who walk through life and writing with them. Very few can remain silent and disappear from the first pages of their work. Read the acknowledgments and you glimpse the author’s face right before the story begins.
Art, by very nature, begs for acknowledgment, and its creation is such a soul-rending feat that it calls for reflection every time. The process of sculpting pictures and conveying feelings with words is not unlike the artistic process from which I borrow my metaphor. Were words something we could hold in our hands and push with our fingers, writers would finish each day wiping them from our fingers like clay, finding them under our fingernails and in our hair, wearing them on our clothes. Writers are, in fact, so much a part of our work that we must all find first readers—the few we can trust with the underpinnings of our work; the ones with whom we entrust our unpolished drafts; the small group of others who could never remain silent in experiencing what we have written; the friends we know can be honest enough to rave about what they like and speak up about what they don’t. We depend on first readers, standing just a step or two behind us with their hands clean of the words, to provide us honestly with the objectivity we need to improve, knowing that they can see from a distance away what we cannot see up close and muddied. These intimates have seen us so clearly, having witnessed the holes in the knees of our favorite soft pants and the truth of our unmade faces, that when the work is done we cannot help ourselves: we must acknowledge them, for they acknowledged us when we needed it the most.
Isn’t it funny that art, which finds its life in the appreciation of many and cannot be created apart from shared experience, most often finds its form in the absorbed solitude of its creator? As a solitude-craving introvert, I smile broadly at the needy extrovert within my art, indeed, within myself. Acknowledgments, while often ignored, acknowledge this very duplicity.
And all these words, smashed together and rolling in my palms, are, at their basest: thank you. The book I have been working on is finished, for now, and has been submitted to its contest for judging. I am elated, satisfied, and smiling. And no matter what God has in mind for this project, it’s been a blast for me and a step leading somewhere. I would love one day to see my book in print, but even more, I just want God to use it to bless someone else…maybe lots of someones.
So, no matter what, thank you. Thank you, to those of you who have acknowledged what this means to me.
Thank you to my first readers, who offered me your love and honesty, your careful and objective eyes, and your time in helping me finish this project. Your suggestions and constructive comments made my writing better, and your encouragement and belief keeps me writing.
Thank you to my parents, for pouring out your love and time and energy on my children to their extreme blessing (and ours) and for continually, faithfully encouraging me. Thank you for making sure I had the time and space in which to do this and for saying, “You’ve got to do this.”
Thank you to family and friends who never fail to comment and spur me on, to those of you who found out what I was up to and cheered me on. In my effort to stay focused and meet the deadline, I haven’t answered your emails or your comments on the blog. But please, know this: Every single time one of you has been excited with me and has taken the time to say so, it has meant more to me than you could possibly guess. It’s HUGE that you acknowledged what this effort means to me, without caring whether or not it ever becomes more than what it means to me.
Thank you for telling me when my writing has blessed you in some way—that’s everything I ever hope for, everything I ask of God. I can’t believe that He would choose to use me to bless the lives of others, but I long for it. God has used every one of you to bless me beyond measure through this process.
So, thank you.
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