Apparently I am quite dense at times. I so long to make God’s heart happy and I never, ever, want to intentionally resist him. My heart’s cry is to remain teachable and open to the workings and desires of the Holy Spirit – always. But the truth is there are times I just don’t get it.
This has been one of those times. I’ve gone through quite a struggle to put these words on paper (or onto the screen of my computer as the case may be). To say I know God wants me to write is an understatement. I cannot point to any other area of my life where he has given me so many, um, “nudges” toward doing a particular thing.
Let’s see … way back when there was the silly little poetry contest that a friend practically forced me to enter. I didn’t win – but I did come in second. The prize? Free tuition to a Writer’s Conference. I did attend the conference, but promptly decided the whole reason God opened that door was to show me I wasn’t really a writer. Yep, that was my brilliant conclusion.
Some years down the road we took another trip round the bend. After practically getting hit over the head with the parable of the talents, I did start to write in earnest. I’d like to say I’ve gone full steam since then but the truth is I’ve run hot and cold. During a “hot” season, I got brave and sent a submission to the publisher of an anthology series. Pounded out a story in less than two hours (I do not usually write that fast!) and shipped it off with an almost defiant attitude thinking there was no way anything would come of it. How could I possibly write anything that anyone would actually want to publish? Well, they did publish it. They even paid me for it. Have I sent anything to a publisher since then? Nope. Pretty much still convinced it was a lark and that what I write really isn’t all that interesting.
So, here I am again. Been in one of my “cold” seasons for a while now but Jesus just won’t let it go. I was talking to him about it not too long ago and wondering why on earth this thing keeps coming up when I really don’t see the point in it and really don’t feel like I have much of anything to say. I “happened” to have the webstream from the prayer room in Kansas City on in the background, and as I was asking him for the umpteenth time, “Are you sure?” the worship leader started to prophetically proclaim (over and over again), “Pick up your pen and write!” So yeah, I guess he’s sure.
You’d think I would be too. But I’m not. And this is only a partial list of the many amusing and amazing ways he has tried to encourage me! I’d be here all day if I listed every word, every scripture, every “chance” encounter I’ve had with someone who said “you should write a book,” and on and on. There was even that little encounter with an angel in a cemetery in Northern Ireland where I was given the pen and mantle of an old scribe (yeah, that one was a little weird for me too–but a true story nonetheless!). Recently I found out that even my birth date has a tie-in. I was born on 3/08 – and Isaiah 30:8 says, of all things, “Go now and write…”
I’m thinking that’s what I should do. Even though I still don’t feel like I have much to say. Frankly right now I would rather be doing just about anything else. I am sitting here pounding on these keys out of sheer force of will. Yet, as I do there is something freeing in it. Something significant is shifting—I just know it. Something is breaking open. Not just for me—for lots of people. Sometimes we just need to put our feet out onto the water. Sometimes we need to do it more than once before it sticks. Sometimes we even need to do it over and over again. But—eventually—we will walk on water.
This is my way of stepping out onto the water … again. I don’t know if anyone will read this; I don’t know if anyone will care. But one thing I do know—he cares. And if he cares, then no one else really needs to care. It doesn’t have to make sense. I don’t even have to have much of anything to say. I just need to write. And I will—even if it is simply for the pleasure of an audience of One.
I want him to have absolutely everything he desires in my life. I want to make his heart happy more than I want to understand. I kind of think he wants me to write. So I’ll go now…
And write.
Cindy Powell 