Sizing Up the Job

I’ve just had an epiphany.

In order to be a writer, you have to actually write.

Profound, isn’t it!  But somehow, each time I set down to the keyboard, it seems an impossible task to bring virtual ink to paper.  The 109 keys in front of me (proof I’ve actually been sitting at the computer) have never been so hard to direct into a working thought.  But my time has run out. . .

I am currently sitting on a plane bound for Charlotte, North Carolina, and a Writers’ Conference arranged by my exuberantly supportive husband.  Once I set foot at that registration table, I am (in effect) declaring myself a “writer”.  Before this, writing was a task (to my amusement, an easily But now, writing is something I am publicizing as a reflection of my identity.  That’s quite a statement, given my lack of viewable evidence.

Many of you are aware of the nervous angst I have experienced about this conference.  It breaches new horizons for me on many uncomfortable levels.  It has raised seemingly unanswerable questions: Am I jumping ahead to quickly?  Will I be the only true “novice”? How am I going to absorb all this information?  What if Russ is wasting this money on me? But none of those questions hit the mark quite like: What if I’m not a writer?

For you spiritual giants that have been invited to critique my dribble, I already hear the echo of your heart – “Your true identity (the only one that really matters) is in Christ.  Anything else can not add or subtract to what you are in Him.”  There is valuable truth to be had here.  He will love me and use me for His purposes, writer or not.  But, it is also true that He makes us all in unique and purposeful ways.  Does my divinely predetermined purpose, born into my physical ability, mental capacity, emotional ???, and spiritual potential – in other words, my identity, include writing?  Hmmmmm . . .

I am currently reading A Chance to Die, a biography of the missionary Amy Carmichael written by Elisabeth Elliot.  I have found a kindred spirit here, although I would not claim to have her strength or courage.  My heart in it’s entirety echo’s Amy’s passion, “ ‘Nothing is worth doing at all, nothing is worth writing, which does not do something which will last.’ ”  Am I that kind of writer?  If I’m not, then it IS a waste of time and money.  There are no two ways about it in my mind.

So, what’s the answer you say?  Why did I get on the plane?  That, my friends was also given to me care of Elisabeth Elliot regarding our mutual “friend” Amy Carmicheal.  She states, “The willingness to sacrifice that springs from a loving heart rather than the desire for spiritual distinction is surely acceptable to God.  But, as in the case of Abraham’s offering his son Isaac, the sacrifice itself is not always finally required.  What is required is obedience.”

Obedience meant getting on the plane.  That’s really all there is to it.  And what about all the other unanswerables.  They’re not my problem.  Whether he desires my “lingual sacrifice” or just my willingness, there’s no way of knowing . . . yet.  I guess, if you stick with me for the journey, we’ll find out together.