“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
My hand twitched and began to move. I watched in dismay at its slow but steady rise into the air. I glanced down at it assuring myself that it was still attached to my body and that I still had control over it. Next my mouth began to form words. There was a tickle in my stomach. My heart started to race. “I want to publish a book,” were the words I heard come out of my own mouth after being called on by my Sunday School teacher. Had I just said that out loud? Those around me were smiling and nodding, so I must have. Well, it was true, but I hadn’t thought about it in a very long time.
Our Sunday School class was reading The Dream Giver, by Bruce Wilkinson. While reading the chapters at home, I really put some thought into what my dream was. Was my dream to be a stay-at-home mom? Yes, that was true. That was a dream I was living. For years, I dreamed of becoming a mother and leaving my teaching job to stay at home with the kids. I would be following in my mother’s footsteps. But lately, I felt the call to do something in addition to being a mom. But what else did I really want to do?
I wanted to write. I love words. Okay, I admit that I’m a big talker. But my love of words was more than the way they spilled out of my mouth. It was the way they sound, the pictures they paint, the stories they tell. I liked to form them, shape them, and weave with them.
It was a blue Smurf folder. That was the special folder I kept my writing in as a child. I wrote poems. I loved the rhymes. Then as a teenager, I fell in love with Shakespeare. The Complete Works of Shakespeare wasn’t what other teenagers had under the Christmas tree, but I was excited to find it under mine. I poured through Romeo and Juliet. Within the safety of my room, I could read the words aloud and even throw in an English accent with a Southern twist.
In college, I was thrilled to get actual credits for taking poetry classes. I’m not sure they had much to do with my teaching degree. How that poetry helped me to be a good mother, I’m not so sure either. But I knew it fostered my love of writing into adulthood. What did that have to do with God, though? A lot, I came to find out…
Join me for the conclusion tomorrow.