Ever since I was a little girl I’ve had a dream of writing.
I authored silly stories, weird things I liked to call “books”, and dreamed bigger than the thin walls of my skull.
I wasn’t afraid, wasn’t discouraged, wasn’t tired of it. I just wrote and wrote, and wrote some more.
Rewind thirteen years: my friend and I had finished writing a book and our teacher allowed us to read it to the class. It had chapters, illustrations, EVERYTHING. We were SO PROUD of that novice little story about a mouse. It was full of bravery, adventure, and discovery. AND ALL OUR CLASSMATES LOVED IT.
To this day I remember the feeling of accomplishment and pride as both boys and girls begged us to continue the story into a series. We were thrilled beyond imagine because never in our lives had we expected to have so much success (especially since we were in the fourth grade when pretty much everyone hated each other and friends were fake).
Sooner or later our moment in the spotlight died, the tales faded, and we moved on. Still, I will never forget those simple moments when I knew this was something I wanted to do.
Years passed, and my creativity began to wane. I was focusing on my middle school studies (because literally everything about those two years was absolutely awful and impossible to manage) and even though English was still a fun subject for me, it was more about realistic papers and assignments than trying to rack one’s brain for imaginative ideas and story lines.
High school smacked me across the face; I was hit with the reality that writers don’t make any money, I wasn’t really that great so I probably wouldn’t amount to anything, and I needed to come up with a plan that would actually get me a job someday. And that, my friends, was where my dream began to die.
College followed, but God wasn’t done with me yet. Writing made its way back into the spotlight, but this time in the form of technical papers and research assignments. My imagination had transformed into analytic thought processes being forced down my throat with little to no room for anything independent to prosper. My right brain suffered, and it suffered hard.
It took me five years to graduate, and by the time I was finished, I was running on a practically empty tank. I had started a blog but it wasn’t getting any traffic. I saw friends find incredible success and I was jealous of them. I searched and searched, desperate to discover the secret they had on becoming a star blogger.
BUT GOD. Last week, about six months after I released what I thought was my final blog post of my imaginary writing career, I was contacted by Ezer Magazine with a message that could only have come from The Lord. They were asking me if I was interested in writing for them on the subjects of faith, relationships, and devotionals. I. WAS. BLOWN. AWAY.
Just when I thought my childhood dream was fading in the distance, God acted. It was like He flopped this opportunity into my lap, saying “I heard you. Now trust me.”
So, out of faith, I accepted. I can only hope that this is something incredible God is speaking to my broken, self-centered heart that He hears me, He understands me, and He loves me.
Friends, do not dismay! If you have a dream, don’t lose heart! God HAS heard your voice and your cry in the wilderness, and He has NOT forgotten you!
“‘As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts…
…so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.'”
~ Isaiah 55:9,11 (NIV) ~