Expression Through Written Words – A Thread

I think best through writing. I always have.

If I want to process something in my life I write. If I want to talk to God with any sort of focus, I write. If I want to dream or question or plan, I write.

I can remember taking creative writing in 4-H in my teen years. I can remember the warm encouragement I ate up that came, in particular, from a couple junior high and high school English teachers. I can remember studying writing magazines, reading interviews with people like Stephen King and John Grisham. I can remember taking courses in college like Novel, Young Adult Literature, Short Story and Japanese Literature. Glorious memories of reading and reading and reading amazing story after amazing story. I can remember being in a writer’s group when Tony and I were first married. How scary it was to read my words in front of others, but how good it felt to be encouraged by others who so badly longed to express themselves creatively with writing.

Words. Stories. They have always made me come alive.

I used to think I would be a writer. That I would write a book. I used to not doubt it, but I never thought about actually starting it. I just knew in my heart I could do it.

Have you ever done that? Felt inside like you could do something, with intense confidence, and yet take no action towards doing it. Pathetic. It’s like living in a dream.

What I like about this “writing” thread that weaves in and out of my life is that it is consistent. Sure it wanes sometimes, but it always reappears, and each time the desire feels stronger than the last.

In the last few months there have been two or three times where I was struck with this desire again. One was when Karen sent me a book about writing freely.

As I flipped through the pages reading snippets, I marched myself into the room Tony was in and proclaimed, “I’m supposed to be a writer.” I’ve done this before, and Tony always politely nods and tells me, “I know.” It’s not a sarcastic “I know” as if to say, “yeah, right whatever.” It’s more of a supportive “I know” like, “I’ve known all along and I’m just waiting for you to figure it out and do it.”

Recently I was having a conversation with an artist friend of mine. She had emailed me some pictures of some recent paintings she had completed. They were amazing. And as I studied them, I was chatting with her and asking what each one meant. I was surprised by her answer, “I don’t really know.” She went on to explain that she just sees images in her mind and she has to get them out. She never really contemplates what the images mean, she just lets them pour out through her paintbrushes.

I realized at that very moment that is how I am with words. I am not the sort of artist that has images in my head, but I do have words. And they build up inside of me, piling on top of each other until I feel a heavy weight of muddled confusion. Taking up my pen is like blasting at a construction zone. The words explode out of my mind and fall into place on paper. I think and see and feel with words. And though I love to mess in a lot of creative play, my most-used tool as an artist is the written word.

A couple weeks ago a relatively new creative friend found my old blog post about writing a book. You know, that book that I started but never even came close to finishing. He asked, “So, how’s your book coming?” At first my heart sank. I’ve been called out. The enemy whispered to me, “See, you don’t have what it takes. You want to be a writer, but you aren’t. You can’t be. You can’t see it through.” But the whispers of God were louder then the jabs of the enemy. And my heart was already being stirred to action. Too many things were calling me to writing again. Too many to ignore.

I start blogging again. Then the NaNoWriMo thing happens and then I start and finish Donald Miller’s newest book which is all about Story.

Do you see how I cannot ignore this thread throughout my life?

You have a thread in your life as well. I think we all do. Things that God keeps bringing up in our life. Gently. Persistently. Passionately. He stirs our hearts again and again and again. And I realize, as I again dare to pick up a pen with any sort of goal in mind, that this is about so much more than being published or completing a book or even calling myself a writer. This is about a relationship with a living God who is talking to my heart. Who cares enough to speak to me, to gift me, to call me.

If ALL I get out of this process is a half-finished jumble of words, I’m okay with that, because I’m having an encounter with the living God. And if He’s asking me to move my pen on paper I’m going to do it. Who knows what His plan is in all this. I just want to follow Him. I just want my character to be changed. I just want what He has for me.

He’s helping me write my story afterall.

One. Word. At. A. Time.