Don't despise criticism. Despise the absence of it.

Take six months, he said. Enroll in some grammar classes. Start fresh and relearn the craft. My fiction writing had creativity. And humor. And timing. What it didn't have yet, he said, was the technical chops to be taken seriously.

Yeah. That hurt.

This was an assessment I received years ago after a New York Times best-selling author critiqued a few pages from one of my initial manuscripts. The advice put me back five years in publishing my first fiction novel. It caused me to second guess every sentence I wrote. It made me paranoid about comma usage. It created doubt about my talent. It unearthed serious insecurities about my career choice.

Man, I owe him.

The war on words.

Telling the hard truth isn't popular these days. Nor is questioning certain sacred cows. There are people, ideas, even opinions in our culture that are not to be criticized or tested. Doing so is borderline illegal. Unless you're in Canada and question Islam, then there is no borderline. It's just plain illegal.

Welcome to the age of settled science, hate speech, and safe spaces: all terms used conveniently to silence all questions, doubt, and opposing opinions.

I don't know where this idea started that certain people, ideas, and beliefs couldn't be questioned. Who decided which ones get coddled? And which don't? What makes these people, ideas, and beliefs so fragile they can't survive doubt? And wouldn't treating them like a namby-pamby be considered soft criticism?

Someone needs to issue a public apology. Stat.

Desperately seeking adulthood. 

I don't think I grew up in a bubble, but maybe I did. In my formative years, the one thing you didn't want was to be treated like a child. Not even when you were one.

That meant accepting constructive criticism, instruction, even punishment and correction with emotional maturity. It also meant dealing with different viewpoints, not always getting your way, never being a sore loser, and, yes, having your ideas and beliefs questioned.

This was the normal path to adulthood.

And we're not talking Medieval Times here people. It was the 80s. Earning respect meant you had to have the gumption and strength to withstand criticism, even when it wasn't constructive.

Tough words are for the tough.

My author friend, the one with the harsh rebuke, actually paid me the ultimate compliment. He treated me like an equal.

He didn't pander, pat me consolingly on the head, and lie about keeping up the good work so I'd feel accepted.

Instead, he questioned me where I needed questioned and challenged me where I didn't know I needed challenged. His words weren't easy, but they were respectful. He knew my fortitude was, or would have to be, strong enough to withstand being questioned and criticized.

Appeasement would have been an insult; rebuke gave me dignity.  

If I were a Muslim in Canada, I'd be so offended right now.

What difference could you possibly make?

She looked across the table at me and sighed, "I just don't know where to start."

Me either, come to think of it.

We were discussing the world and all its juicy problems. My friend wants to be involved, wants to reverse the destruction she sees, wants to push back all that is crippling the sense of right and wrong in the world.

Me too, come to think of it.

So...where to start?

We've made an overwhelming mess of things in our world. We have debt we entered into willingly while being unwilling to pay it. Stress we're stressed out about. Language police and protests against any police. Destruction that is called free speech. Free speech that is called destructive. Haters who hate the haters. Lovers who love too freely. Mysterious diseases. Mysterious legalities. Mysterious national borders. Freedom to enter any bathroom of our choosing but a lessening right to privacy. Rape that isn't rape rape and marriage that isn't marriage marriage. People seeking offense in anything except that which is offensive. And politics. Always the ever present seepage of politics into every aspect of our lives, whether it's in the laws that govern poorly, the burdens we are legally required to carry that are not our own, the disagreements that divide us, or the words we are and are not allowed to speak.

Yeah. It's ugly.

My friend wants to make a difference. And, let me be brutally honest with you here, she may not. Nothing we do may have any affect at all.

But that's the risk, isn't it? The not knowing if it matters. The unknown results. The hidden destination. We aren't asked to control the outcome, God simply asks us to be obedient. To do what is placed before us, what we know is right, whatever we can do, and to let Him handle it from there.

Results are His territory and the destination is His design. We're not responsible for our impact, only our actions.

My job is to trust that. And to trust Him: in my world, my life, and my future. When I do, shockingly enough, the mess doesn't seem so big anymore.