Monday, October 7, 2013

A Pilgrim's Musings: Writers Write Right?

I am a writer. Writers write…right? One of the sure signs that one is a writer is a journal, every writer puts pen to page to journal their thoughts; every intricate and intimate detail of their lives finds its way on to the written page…or typed page. If one keeps a journal they can with confidence declare, “I am a writer.” It seems to be an unwritten rule to those truly called to write. All the great authors kept journals, right? They all have been writing since they could hold a pen in hand, right?

I keep a journal or two, one on the written page, the other captured on the keyboard. If you read my journal, the typed page (password protected of course) you won’t find many details of my life. You would find the promises God spoke to me, the dreams He has whispered into my spirit while I slept, the wrestlings that have accompanied those dreams, with details I am surprised that He would entrust to me…and humbled, as I limp away from the fight; Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.You may find a few feeble prayers from this cracked vessel—no, broken vessel. 

God’s beautiful words in Psalm 25:4 encourages us contemplatives; The Lord confides in those who fear him. The NASB reads, The secret of the Lord is for those that fear Him, and He will make them know His covenant.  I have always believed that, and believed for it—but still stand awed that He did it for me. 

Several years ago the Lord gave me a vision of myself, you may find yourself laughing, but it is true nonetheless. He showed me a picture of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I am much like her. I will fight the forces of darkness to get to God and will lead others to Him, and show them He has good gifts for their lives. But when the time comes to receive those gifts, I watch as others receive theirs, but disappointedly remark, “Oh, I don’t think there is anything in that black bag for me.” In truth, Dorothy felt that her need was too big for the Oz to handle-if the black bag couldn’t hold it—it wasn’t possible. How often do we put God in a box, and if things don’t come to pass as we think it should, it just isn’t going to happen? Just as Dorothy had no idea that the Oz had a better way, one that would carry her on the wind-back home, we cannot see from our perspective how God will perform on our behalf. Thankfully, God works with us where we are and He will not forsake us. He still has prepared good gifts for us, despite our flaws and shortcomings; our unfaithfulness.

The Holy Spirit has been nudging me—again, to write. I don’t know if I will divulge every intricate detail; honestly, I am not sure my life would grip you. But I think writing is the means God uses to coax me from my cave; most times I feel as if I am running for my life—afraid, and like Elijah hide from the pain. If I were to be honest, the reason my journal pages are scarce is that I grow weary of believing and hoping, and I didn’t want my disappointments penned as a reminder of my failings of not waiting well, the questioning, the tossing and turning, the wrestlings—waiting for dreams to come true and promises to be fulfilled. I have walked through many heartbreaks—some rough roads indeed, it simply took too much mental energy to rehash them into a journal; it was hard enough to walk through them without having to put pain to paper. But here I stand by the grace of a loving Savior. I find now, in hindsight, that writing them down would have been healing, but so be the consequences of ignoring the promptings of the Holy Spirit. 

Now there are few details to be found in those struggles, but that which remains in my memory—no doubt this may prove that I am not a “real writer.” But I do purpose to write more. My desire for writing is to write purposefully. I don’t want to write something every day—just for the sake of writing, and fill space with meaningless chatter, I want to write on purpose; to convey a message, one of comfort from the God of all comfort when we are walking through tragedy, hurt and disappointments. If my pen and prose don’t shout Christ’s love for you, or lead you to a deeper truth about Him, I don’t want to write. 

This may illustrate to some that I am not a “real writer,” because writers write, right? The commandments for becoming a writer: Thou must write a blog post every day or you won’t gain the followers you need to build a platform. Thou must tweet 600 times a day—you are one tweet away from the jackpot of being discovered and published.  Honestly, if that is what it takes to get published, it’s not for me. Perhaps I am not a “real writer.” I just want to bring a message of comfort and hope in life’s pages that prove harsh and weary the soul. I would not have lived to tell a single struggle without learning to trust God, even when I couldn't trace Him. Let us journey down the yellow brick road to the Emerald City, to the Almighty and All-Powerful God who has good gifts in store for those that seek Him. 

It is time for all of us to stop letting others define us, and just be who God called us to be. It is hard not to compare ourselves to others; I stand in the mirror and am reminded of my short-comings and how I am not like her, or her. God wants us to look in the mirror of His Word—His love letter—and believe what He says about us. We must learn to drown out those voices and be exactly who God called us to be. I want all that God has for me, and I want to do all that He bids. I am a writer. 

Writers write, right? 

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