If you could do anything, what would it be? Perhaps you have never really articulated that before. Yet, there is something deep inside that calls your name. From the back of the dark cave called the future, the voice whispers loudly to you. “This is what you want. This is where you want to go.”
As I look back on my life, writing has always been there. For school projects, I would often choose writing rather than other forms of expression.
In the seventh grade, we studied the American Revolution. One of the projects to choose was to create a diary of a soldier at Valley Forge. That was my project. Even at that young age, the thought of writing rather than building something was much more appealing. I still have that project in a scrapbook. I spent the time researching conditions at Valley Forge and got a sense of what life was like. I wrote out the entries and creatively organized the information. I found old, yellowed paper with no lines on it. Perfect! I sewed it with thread for binding.
All the effort to create an environment through the words and the presentation was just a vehicle for carrying the information I had studied into words on a page. I enjoyed getting inside the character’s head and writing his words on the yellowed pages.
In high school, I discovered creative writing. We had the opportunity to choose different classes and the Creative Writing elective literally changed my life. The curriculum required keeping a journal of observations and thoughts. I had never thought of keeping a journal before. The journal became my lifeline. The journal became the place where I could express the feelings that couldn’t be talked about with others. I didn’t have anyone to listen to me. My journal became a place to process my fears, doubts, hurts, and questions.
Later, when Jesus became the center of my life, my journal became a place of prayer and study. I still keep a journal. It may not be the lifeline it once was, but it is a place to capture important thoughts, feelings, heartfelt prayers, and the whispers of God. Do you keep a journal?
I discovered that God made me to write words through that creative writing course. Writing words that carry emotions and ideas has been a part of my life since then. Recognizing the place of writing in my past has been part of discovering how I am made and uncovering His design for my future. That discovery led to the book you are reading now. This is part of my MORE. There is more for you, too, my friend.
Writing was not consciously my dream early on. Writing was just there. An undercurrent. A silver thread. Recognizing the sparkle of that thread helped me to discover God’s dream for me. I know without a doubt that writing is not just my dream. It is God’s dream for me. He designed me with words woven into my being. He made me to create. Words on a page, words in a message. Words are woven into me.
What is woven into you, my friend? Have you taken the time to discover the silver threads in your makeup? When you look back over your life, what are the dreams, gifts, and talents that recur? Those are your clues. The things that you have always enjoyed doing. The projects that seem to repeat in your life. The desires that never go away. Those are part of God’s dream for you.
As I tearfully opened the sodden boxes of our stored belongings, wondering what was ruined, a verse came to mind,
We were temporarily living with my parents, and our stuff was stored in Tom’s parents' garage. They had a plumbing issue in their bathroom above the garage, causing a leak that soaked several of our boxes and other items, including our mattress. We weren’t sure what was salvageable.
That period of time was already difficult. We were waiting for a job to open up and unsure how long that would take, how long we would be living with my parents, how long our stuff would be stored. Both sets of parents had been patient, loving, and gracious. There was no one to blame for the water damage. Sometimes things just happen.
But when that verse popped into my brain, it completely changed my perspective on going through the damage. The tears didn’t stop. There was some mourning and disappointment. But at the same time, there was hope. This was temporary. These things were just things. What really mattered was how I responded. I could choose an eternal perspective. I could choose to treasure Christ more than an earthly possession.
As it turned out, very few of our things were unsalvageable, and insurance more than covered anything that was lost. But the eternal perspective I gained is a treasure that I still carry. That simple shift helped me through the three and a half years of living in the in-between.