Don’t you just love that picture above?

The perfectly organized desk, the lovely mug of coffee, the writer’s stylish sweater?

Well, let me tell you—that’s not what my writing looks like on most days. Maybe on a very good day, but not a typical day. Definitely not today. (I managed to spill tea all over—thankfully not on my laptop, but still a far cry from that perfect picture!)

The reality is, we’re not perfect. We’re all sinners—redeemed, yes, but still sinners, still living in a fallen world. And writing is rarely going to be a glamorous experience.

For some reason, I didn’t feel like a “real” author until I had a website. But two weeks ago, when I finally buckled down to it and began the very glamorous task of near-constant google searches because I had no clue what I was doing, it finally hit me. I have a website. I have two published books. I just submitted another manuscript to a traditional publisher.

I’m a real author now.

And I’m also a teenage girl.

I’m eighteen and taking a gap year before starting college. I’m juggling three part-time jobs and procrastinating on studying Latin for college next year and trying to fit in family and social time somewhere. I’m fighting a (mostly failing) battle against acne and trying to figure out tax paperwork and booking a flight for the first time (more confusing than website design, if you’re wondering).

In that moment two weeks ago, when I realized I was a “real” author, I felt so overwhelmed. I had expected writing to be more glamorous—maybe not as a teen amateur, but definitely by the time I was a “real” author.

And it’s not. The beauty and inspiration of a good story isn’t enough to do away with all the messy humanity we bring to our writing desks. Nothing magical happens when you sign that first contract or upload your first novel onto Amazon.

We’re still human. We’re still sinners.

But that realization holds incredible comfort. I don’t have to be the “perfect” writer. I never will be, no matter how hard I try. I’m still going to end up spilling my tea or scribbling outlines on the back of weeks-old lesson plans (true story, by the way). I’m still going to worry too much about writing the perfect first draft and I’m still going to be offended when people offer constructive criticism.

And I’m still forgiven for all of that. God has never worked through perfect people—no perfect person has ever existed. Instead, He chooses to work through us in all of our brokenness and sin. Moses hated public speaking, yet he led God’s people to the Promised Land. David was the baby of the family (not to mention an adulterer and murderer), yet he became the greatest king of Israel. And don’t even get me started on Paul!

But if God can work through those men—if He can work through me, spilled tea and messy outlines and all—then He can also work through you. Maybe that’s in writing. Maybe it’s in some other way. But if you wait to start until the perfect time, till you feel like a “real” author, then you’ll never begin.

God works through you, even in the messy moments. (Even on the days you wake up and your desk looks nothing like that picture above!) What you’re doing, whether as a writer, a sibling or a parent, a student or an employee—none of is about you. It’s not about your own abilities or perfection or even about your own fear. It’s about God using you as a channel of His blessings to the people all around you.

Once I realized that, I was able to embrace the fact that I’m a “real” author instead of hiding from it. (“I only have two books published, and they’re only self-published, and they didn’t sell very many copies, but I guess I’m an author, sort of?”)

My skills (or lack of) as an author, my young age, my general cluelessness about web design? None of that matters. It’s never going to be glamorous. And it’s certainly never going to be perfect.

But I trust that God will work through me—even through my flaws and imperfections—in order to create something beautiful.

And whether in writing or in something else, He can and will do the same for you.