Gifts

I have the gift of writing; I think I’ve always known that to some extent, at least, since I was about 10. And I’ve always wanted to write, not just be writer, but to actually write. I enjoy fantasy, reading it, watching it, and occasionally just drifting off into worlds of my own creationl, so naturally, that’s where my writing led me; to explore new worlds that I created, that only I could fully know. Once I actually thought of just living off writing, sure, I may not be the best writer out there, but untutored, untaught, I found I could write just as well as several of the big names out there, sometimes even better, I think; maybe that’s just my pride…

I remember when I was twelve I started to throw a few ideas onto paper. I was impressed with what I came up with and a year later, so was my teacher. A man who seemed to make it his personal goal to build the writing skills of his students, we were three then, three exceptional students who always competed to see who would get full marks. We all usually did. I remember writing out one book, all 24 chapters of it, and putting down the rough plan for the twelve that would follow it.

And I remember praying that God would help me to realize my dream of becoming a writer, that He would help me develop my writing to the point that I could actually successfully write and market at least that one series of books; most of the story is still locked up in my head, only part of it has actually made it onto paper.

But while I prayed that God would help me realize my dream, I never considered what His plans were for my life, never considered that this precious gift (make no mistake, writing is hard) could have been given to me for His glory and not for my own. I remember when I realized that, when I realized that I was asking God to help me write for my sake, not for His.

No, I wasn’t ashamed; I saw no reason to be. I actually went on to ask that He at least let me write that one series, that one story, get it done with and then I would do whatever He asked me to do, then I would do His will, but only after He had done mine; after all, I had the gift, I could write and I could always choose what to write. It never occurred to me then that what I was actually saying was, “give me this much for myself, just this much, and I will give the rest to You…”

Then I stopped writing. It wasn’t intentional, wasn’t conscious, it just happened. Yes, for a while I might have been angry, but more than that I was frustrated. I had so much to write, so much I wanted to tell whoever could read, but I just could not get it out of my head. Believe me, I tried.

And then slowly, reluctantly, came acceptance. God has asked for nothing less than my all, nothing less than everything I am. Nothing less. He created me, everything He has blessed me with has been for a reason, has been for His glory, taking away even one tiny bit for myself, for my glory would be going against His will, His perfect will for my life.

Maybe someday I will get that story out of my head, maybe someday people will read it across the globe, yes, I still hope for that. But if that ever does happen, I pray that it will be first for God’s glory and much more than my own.