I’m pregnant with a book. If it were a ten-pound baby, I’d just wait until my due date, uncomfortable as I was. But this baby, this book, needs to be born.
Sometimes it’s just better to get the sucker out. I just need to give birth and then deal with the squalling baby.
Why do I hold back from producing things, from creating, from putting my efforts out into the world? God put no restrictions on Adam in the Garden of Eden when he set him loose to create.