Editing can mean a lot of things
On Tiny Thoughts That I've Been Thinking and the good work of knitting it together
I spent much of the past year editing a collection of my friend Leslie Bustard’s writings. “Editing” can mean a lot of things, from moving commas around to working with a writer to midwife an idea into a written work, but in this case it meant gathering my dear friend’s writings together in the months after her death and, on her behalf, knitting them into a finished book.
It also meant reading the story of her last three years closely—so closely—when the grief was still very fresh. Which was as difficult as it sounds.
But even on the hardest days, getting to work on this book felt like a gift—like something I could do to keep loving Leslie and her family even though I live too far away to bring them dinner or give them hugs. I’m beyond grateful to her husband, Ned, for inviting me to be a part of it and for trusting me with this portion of her story.1
I’m grateful too to the Rabbit Room for publishing the following article about Leslie’s book and why I think it’s so wonderful and worthwhile. You can read an excerpt below, or you can read the full thing right here.
Better yet, you can skip straight to the good stuff and order a copy of Leslie’s book, Tiny Thoughts That I’ve Been Thinking: The Selected Writings of Leslie Anne Bustard, through Bookshop, Amazon, or the Square Halo Books store.
Writing Within the Storm: On Leslie Bustard’s Selected Works
I feel like I just got it—
I just got what it really meant to rest in Jesus.
Rest in Jesus. He really is trustworthy . . .
In the weeks after Leslie Anne Bustard—my good friend, mentor, and collaborator—awoke on mercy’s shores, I opened a new document and pasted those words at the very top. Though they eventually became her book’s epigraph, at the time I didn’t know if they would stay or if those words were just there for me, to orient my thoughts as I read and reread her work, determining which pieces would become the pages of the book itself. And as I read, I revisited those words often.
He really is trustworthy.
Leslie only began to publish in earnest after she was diagnosed with two different forms of cancer, but her gift for hospitality immediately shone through in her writing. She invited readers into her journey the way she’d been inviting people into her home for years: she didn’t wait until things were perfect; she didn’t let fear of what readers might think keep her from sharing vulnerably about her life as a Christian, a mother, a wife. Instead, she shared the fears that rose up around her as she faced cancer, as well as the beauty she found even in the midst of suffering. Her path led to the shores and there, in the hospital, in her last weeks, she said, He really is trustworthy.
Recently another friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer, and when she shared with me which books had already blessed her as she prepared for the uncertainty that accompanies all the tests and treatments, I realized that many of them were written by cancer survivors—writers who had faced and then written eloquently about their experience with cancer, with the wisdom and distance of one who has emerged from the other side.
But that is not Leslie’s story. She wrote about her experience as it was happening, and then left an abundance of beautiful writings behind her—so many that it quickly became clear that only a fraction of them would fit into this book. She did not write as one reflecting back upon her experience or as one able to edit and revise those raw thoughts before publication. No, Leslie wrote from within the storm, when the path out was still obscure. And even there, she could call the Lord trustworthy. . . .
Other people who deserve to see their name in print, festooned with words of gratitude? Jessie, Angie, and Tiffany, who prayed for and checked up on me as I worked and who listened so deeply and so well—thank you, friends. All writers should be so lucky as to have companions like you.
To my husband, Mitch, who kept me supplied with green tea and who has learned, after a couple of decades, when to help me troubleshoot and when to just let me talk—thank for giving me room to do this work and, on those mornings when I needed a nudge, the encouragement to keep doing it. Words don’t suffice.
And to my daughters (who won’t read this yet, but still)—thank you for adopting Leslie as a kind of patron saint and for caring so much about her story. One day you’ll get to meet her, and you’ll love her even more then, I promise!