Called to Write

Called to Write

(First written in 2001 -- revised in 2008)

The written word has always been important to me but it is only recently that I’ve really analyzed why. As a child I imagined my life as story. Whatever I was doing, I was, as it were, watching a story unfold. As a teenager, I had to write things down -- thoughts, ideas, plans, feelings, etc. – to make them my own.

I took a writing course from Children’s Literature Institute but struggled with both writing fiction and using too many words. (And, also the demands of family and business.) I won an essay contest and have had one short essay considered and another one published in an anthology so I know I can write. I just don’t know what to do with what I write.

Although I love the work I am doing now, a “temporary” working situation that has stretched over a year has so sapped my emotional strength that the creativity that usually just happened has dried up completely. Even to the point that I stopped writing stories for our grandchildren about childhood on the farm and ranch 50 years ago. Now, I feel that I am being called to write but I don’t know what.

Years ago my husband and I, either heard on the radio or read someplace, that one needs to approach God with open hands. The suggestion was with uplifted, open hands but we knew that our teen aged children would be absolutely mortified if we raised our hands during the offertory prayer in the front pew of our conservative Presbyterian church. We compromised by lifting our open hands to chest level signifying holding nothing back and accepting whatever God gives us.

I almost always write on the church bulletin. I write the names of those needing prayers during the week. I make notes of meetings we need to attend. I jot down thoughts on the sermon or Scripture to explore further. I even make to do lists. One Sunday as I stood for the offertory prayer and lifted my open hands, I heard, as clearly as I heard the Pastors prayer, a voice asking, “What is that in your hand?”

“My pen.”

“I want that, too.”

“It’s Yours, Lord.”

“Use it for Me.”

“Yes, but what do I write?”

This has happened twice in the last 3 years. The week following the latest incident, while helping a library patron look for a particular Chicken Soup book, I noticed that Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul was on order. I put my name on the reserve list. When it came, I read here and there and then read it straight through. Then I bought a copy for myself.

However, I’m still looking for the answer to what to do with what I write. (And, for the resolve to write regularly in spite of my creativity level.) I did write an article that had been fermenting for about 10 years and submitted it to Guideposts and thus began a “thanks but no thanks” folder. I want to do some rewrites of the submissions for the writing course and I want to resume work on the stories for our grandchildren. And, I keep wondering about the next step.