Me, a writer??

I love working with words all day.

 

That’s what I told my Mama tonight.  What’s more—--it’s true (just like everything else she knows about me, cause really there’s nothing she doesn’t: isn’t anything really true about me that she doesn’t know).

It’s a temptation to think all this can’t really be work, because it’s not like drawing blood.  I should be doing Trig. right now, I think. . .That’s. work.  But apparently writing is work too, and I’m on it right now.  Hours a day, sitting and forming paragraphs and using adverbs and cutting horrible words and hopefully writing some true words all strung together like a glorified clothesline—--like somewhere to hang your heart.  That’s the prayer. 

Cause if I’m not praying words, words for humility, and for grace, and for clarity, and for staying on the ground, then I’m writing them.

And if I’m not writing them, these curious characters trying desperately to look official but not formulaic, these sentences intended to boldly declare the real, and mostly just boldly telling me what I don’t know and have yet to make real in my own life, then I’m reading them.

And if I’m not reading them, these dialogues of a lifetime, these descriptions of jungle life, and family life, and overflowing, everywhere-everything life, these barings of the heart of a godly man and a godly woman, running toward the same goal, their pursuing-God hearts brilliant—--to brilliant to be fully taken in, like Moses’ face—, if I’m not doing that, well then I’m writing letters of my own.

 

Writing letters, building conversations in relationships, and spreading around the glory that I’m steeped in right now. 

The glory of a woman who counted God faithful, no matter what. 

The glory of those who knew Him true who had promised;

who saw more than what met their eyes;

who gloried in their Redeemer;

those who forgot what was behind,

strained forward to what was ahead,

and pressed on toward the goal for the prize of

the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

These are greater things than words can describe. 

Which leaves me in a bind. 

I can pretend all day I’m a writer, but at the end of the day, the capturing and painting of the glory of this faithfulness is up to Him.

“The idea is not that we do work for God, but that we are so loyal to Him that He can to His work through us-” said Oswald Chambers. 

And I’m thinking that’s my only hope as a writer of something far bigger than myself...