Into the Fire

"If you could produce exactly what you want in a novel, what would be the result?"

One would think or assume that when we take that time to construct a novel, it would be exactly what we want. And sometimes it is. The amazing Harper Lee's creation To Kill A Mockingbird must have satisfied that craving to make a novel exactly what it should be because there was never another one. To write a book and project that you could never equal it in content or success would be a strange experience. Most writers will tell you they're shooting for the moon. Always trying to improve. Continual students of craft. Which I happen to think is not quite true – but that's just me.

Some people are never satisfied. Not only with their writing but with their lives. It's always push, push, push to the next level, exercise, project, achievement. This can be admirable and some individuals are programmed for an intensive arena of production, but at some point whether or not one cares to admit it, we all come to the end of ourselves. To our limits. That's when it's as good as it gets. Maybe this doesn't come until the age of 85, but for most of us it comes a lot sooner.

Usually God knows when that point of accomplishment meets its apex long before we'll admit to it. What we often fail to realize in this life is that once we find Him or He rescues us, life becomes all about Him. Not us. Him. There's a design for each one of us in this allotted lifetime, and many of us don't accept it, don't follow it, don't recognize when we stray from it, and ultimately want it to be different than it is. We choose to believe that we can improve upon the plan, make things better for ourselves and for others, by doing our version of what we've decided is ours to do. We disguise it with admissions such as "striving for excellence" as if we're capable of gaining it by our dedicated work ethics or strong desires. We elevate our goals and marry them to God's ambition for us. We proclaim our steadfast aim to serve the Lord with our work, our art, our mission – whatever it is – but the hint of self asserts itself into the efforts and an inkling of pride lurks in the background of our accomplishments because, after all, we worked for it. Hard! And shouldn't just a bit of recognition be afforded to our efforts?

Writing can be a calling. Something we know we're compelled to do. Any calling requires work to realize and fulfill, but all the inspiration and ability to do the required regimen is from the Lord – acknowledged or not. The true purpose of the writing remains in His hands, surrendered to Him with tears or joy. He decides what happens to those words typed or penned by individuals He's summoned for His intent. We fail to understand His logic because truthfully at times it makes no sense to us. We argue. We revise. We experience discontent. We often forge our own paths.

There are those who insist if we just persevere, the end result will be a contract, recognition of our craft, and all things "published". That to settle for anything less is to give up, to accept defeat, mediocrity, or a misunderstanding of our divine purpose and abilities. Christians often make the mistake of translating what others' jobs and opportunities in this kingdom should be instead of sticking to interpreting their own paths. A writer's journey starts and stops with God's hand and the unique road traveled must remain between the writer and the Spirit of Truth. Only then can it approach divine.

If I could produce exactly what I want in a novel, the result would be – oddly enough – the feeling of anointing upon the story. That God ordained I should tell this story because it serves some purpose in His kingdom. That the words would  somehow match the task of writing to honor the Savior. That in some way it could be profound – even just a little bit. Have I done this? I can only hope . . .

Father, my hope is in you. And I do write because you give me stories and words. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of attempting to write for your pleasure. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.