Life is so busy that I hardly have time to do anything. Thankfully I’ve been given the chance to spend more of my time writing. If I were to choose any profession in the world, it would be to write. (Pro Mom is already a given of course.) But even though I have more time to write, it doesn’t seem like I’m making much headway. No matter how much I think and revise and work my stories don’t seem any closer to being finished.
Of course it would be easier if I wasn’t becoming a scheduling fiend. I still hold to my standard of “grace time” so I make sure there is a fifteen minute gap between every task just in case, but I’m still working on multiple projects at once.
It hit me while I was renewing our chalk board. I’m not sure why, but I wrote “Go on an adventure.” Adventures are such a big part of my life that I’ve always been hungry for more. With chalk on my fingers and the board in my hand I decided that it’s been too long since I’ve had an adventure of my own.
I became a writer because my mind is filled with adventures. I want to edit stories so that I can help other writer’s share their own adventures. But sometimes I forget that it’s ok to live your own adventures. Life has been a whirl of schedules, work, more work and trying to balance more schedules. (Ever tried to make the absent minded professor organize – and then stick to – a schedule? Try authors. They’re insufferable!)
My mind was made up; I put the chalkboard above the book section of our little toy store and closed up for labor day weekend two hours later. With my laptop in hand I stuffed everything else I brought into my car and walked to one of our local coffee shops. We have two, but I chose the one that had the best atmosphere for writing. (Dim lighting, comfortable chairs, organic tea that would make a hippy cry in ecstacy, art everywhere….yep.) I have no idea whether or not they have wifi. I didn’t ask. With my own personal little pot of tea I settled down in a corner and pulled out my laptop.
For once I managed to edit a chapter for another writer and work on revising my novel. Once I finished I looked around for a minute and thought of something….I was living my dream. Going somewhere I didn’t usually go, writing, taking in conversations and the pleasant environment around me.
I want to live as I write. When I say that I mean that I want to enjoy my life. Writing is a passion, not a pest. What no one ever told me is that passions were meant to be painful. (Look up the greek, peeps. Thanks, my theology professor!) So now that I know what I’m getting into – the easy days like Saturday, and the hard days like today – I still want to be a writer. And a teacher. And an editor. And a wife. And someday, a mother. If God wills it, I’ll get a blackbelt – maybe teach some little warriors of my own. #Goals
I’ve been so overwhelmed trying to choose from all of these things that I’ve forgotten. It’s not my will be done. Not even my will be done in my life – just God’s will….for the story that He is weaving I am but a thread. Were I to venture out on my own it would result in such a chaotic knot that only He could get it out. And where would the story go then? Would it not be greater to fulfill my purpose, no matter how difficult or impossible for me alone?
One word cannot make a story. Thus, it must follow the words that came before, and lead to the words beyond. Why would a single word wish to stand out above the rest? That is not how a story is made.
Why must everything I write seem so unoriginal? why would I choose topics like writing or women in the church or theology points that are most certainly beyond me?
Indeed, why would such a simple pair of ink-stained hands be given the opportunity to share her words with the world when she herself is nothing more than a life breathed by God?
That, dear one, is the key. Unlike words which are nothing on their own, a life breathed by God is loved by Him no less than any other. But like the heroes of your stories, you cannot write your own. No character has the power to direct their own lives without the will of their author. At times they do try, but it leads to chaos.
My life is not simple. It never was. One saturday long ago I was inspired to write a blog post. Months later, life went from chaotic to absolute….well…I don’t even know how to define it anymore. Let’s just say that “grace time” has disappeared. Time isn’t mine, it never was, and I get the feeling that I’m never going to have enough of it again.
The grace remains. Grace to live, breath & write as I am given.