I remember when I first learned about the magic of words. It was in first grade reading circle that I discovered that they had the power to carry me to another world.
In that same first grade class where I leaned the magic of words, I struggled with 9 minus 2. I remember one particular day struggling with a math paper at my desk when Kathy Kawamura sidled by and said with a smirk…….”You aren’t done yet?” I can still see the expression on her face, and I can still feel the burning humiliation of that moment.
Learning in general has never been easy for me. I struggle with comprehension. Sometimes I have to read a paragraph or a concept over and over again until it starts to click in my brain. And math……Math and I have a long and tortuous history. Best to skip over that one.
But stringing words together? That was my salvation. Still is.
In sixth grade I learned that not only could I transport myself to another place by reading, I could transport someone else to another place with my own words. In high school, all my hopes and dreams, crushes and angst were chronicled in a little black book.
It was a release for me then, and it’s a release for me now.
I believe God gives each of us at least one thing we don’t have to struggle with, one thing that comes effortless, that gives us peace. Writing has been that thing for me. It’s like a perfectly fitting glove for my soul. It doesn’t matter if I am any good at it, I just know I have to do it. Like breathing.
And if not a soul except God ever sees it? I’ll still do it. It’s my way of making sense out of the world around me. Somehow it’s always been important to me to make sure that moments are not lost, because every moment matters.
It occurs to me that not everyone feels the need to chronicle a walk they just went on, but I always have. That compulsion alone is what makes me a writer.
Not because I am any good at it.
Not because hundreds of people will read it.
Not because I will gain any notoriety because of it.
I write simply because I am doing what God made me to do.
Capturing what I see and feel, what I think about God, and everything He’s made, what He whispers in my ear is a form of worship. I believe God has given us all at least one gift, one thing that comes easy, because He knows how hard the rest will be.
Our highest calling is to do that one thing for His glory.
And never ever stop no matter what anyone tells you.
One thought on “Why I write”
Well said …