I have grandiose ideas about what it means to be a writer. I picture an idyllic world in which I wake up to a magical haze in my bedroom, and everything is coloured with wonder and surprise. My feet meet the floor with anticipation of what will unfold before my eager eyes that day. Everything, a welcome joy to the unfolding narrative before me. All of life’s a delicious story; I would drink it up with unmatched enthusiasm, and it would spill out of me in words woven with spark and creativity. I am, after all, a writer.

The trouble is that is not my reality. There are dirty dishes, and plenty of them. The laundry never ends, and the boxes on my to-do list are never all checked off. There are children to teach, young souls to be discipled, and in the middle of it I am a hot mess who can’t get her act together. I can’t make the time to get food on the table, let alone write.

I beat myself up for not waking at the crack of dawn to enjoy an hour of uninterrupted writing before the demands of the day meet me head on. I have things to say, but sleep has things to say to me as well. Before I know it, weeks have passed, and I have neglected to write a thing. Then I am faced with the obvious internal conflict, “What kind of writer doesn’t write? You’re not a writer. How are you going to write a book when you can’t drag your uninspired butt out of bed and get to work?”

The truth is, I don’t know. But I know that I will. This journey will have times of triumph and trial, and I will learn to ride the waves when I find my feet, and take the beating when I lose my footing and the waves come crashing down on my head. I’ll get back up and try again, not because I am strong and dedicated but because Jesus is. He never fails, and by the power of his Spirit I will press on. My hope is in God, not in myself. He is the one who calls, and he is the one who makes my path straight, and illuminates the way. He puts breath in my lungs, and enables me to take my shaky steps toward him.

“Be comforted, small one, in your smallness. He lays no merit on you. Receive and be glad. Have no fear, lest your shoulders be bearing this world.”
C.S. Lewis, Voyage to Venus: Perelandra

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