I open waymaker and caress the pages.
I begin to read, and Ann’s words resonate through my soul:
Her words still my angst, calm the turmoil of doubt.
“This is why I want to publish more books,” I sigh. “So, others can hold hope in two hands.”
I continue to read:
Ann’s insights cause me to question.
Does God see me as a writer? I wonder for the thousandth time.
If so, then I must first and foremost write for an audience of One, the Creator of all that is pure and lovely and hopeful.
If I don’t get this right, I muse, then why does all the writing for others matter?
I stop reading and ask the Lord, “What questions are you asking me?”
“Why do you doubt me?” The question haunts.
“Why do you doubt this holy calling?”
I linger in a state of suspended grace, grace that waits for my full participation to move forward.
Grace that promises inspiration
I must choose to embrace the reality that being a writer doesn’t promise being well known.
To be a writer only promises to be known by the most important Writer who crafted the creation with the Word:
So, today I renew my promise to pen words onto journal pages. Words, perhaps, only my Creator will care to read.
I watch the dancing candles on the coffee table in front of where I write and feel peace fill my soul.
“Today, I am a writer,” The declaration calms my questions, doubts, deliberations.
Today, I purpose to craft encouragement that will, one day, find its way onto soft pages others can caress.
Pages writers will draw strength from as they pursue this holy calling.
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