finding words

between the sunrise this morning and a prayer spoken last night, courage has found its way into my words. on friday, i said if i could do anything, i would finish my manuscript. a friend offered hope  - almost immediate. our conversation online went from my blog to twitter. i took a step, always small, and asked her to read the rough, choppy, messy and incomplete version of a draft i stashed in a folder on my laptop. she obliged, and i sent it off with a prayer.

i then was tagged in a comment mentioning jon acuff's saturday post about writers who need to be published. i shook my head and looked at russ and he smiled, "maybe it's your time" he said. i should have known he'd say this. his belief in me is unwavering.

and then sunday morning, i fumbled with my words while talking with my sponsor. she told me she remembered me talking about this manuscript at my first meeting - about how i didn't know why i was unable to finish other than me just stopping last year when i experienced an emotional fallout i wasn't anticipating. suddenly, my character's plight didn't seem as important as the crushing weight i felt inside, and so i pushed her away. my sponsor shrugged and said "the only thing you can do is act. and if something happens, you know it's God enabling you to push through. it's Him holding your hand and guiding you along this road."

and so tentatively, i opened her up on monday morning. i cringed when i realized the similarities between my main character and myself - our hope for worth and value and our wrestling with love. i questioned the validity of the writing. i hesitated with even trying.

i thought to myself who in their right mind would connect with this story of a teenage girl? and i lifted up a prayer in the early morning hours: Father, show me who i am in You?

the call came late last night - a voice i only knew online, the one who offered such hope on friday.

"you'll have to excuse me if i start crying," she said and i wondered out of all the roads this conversation could take, where it would end.

between her tears and my silence, she whispered, "elora, if i didn't know better, i would have thought you were spying on me these past few years."

those words did a wonder to my soul. it wasn't cataclysmic. it wasn't a shouting of joy and fist-pump of i knew its. as she told me her own story and prayed for my courage and perseverance while i fought my own tears, i sunk deep into the cushions of my couch. who am i to receive this? i thought.

and this morning, driving to work with the sun breaking through the night sky, i remembered the scene where my main character exclaims how the morning sky screams for someone to listen. and despite the music coming from my speakers, i heard His voice speak to the very core of my soul.

who are you? you are My child with a story i need you to tell.

and i knew what He meant. i knew the pages on my computer would come to life again under His direction. and i knew my own story - the one i try and cuddle like a wounded child - would find her words as well.

 

Posted on May 4, 2011 .