Why I Write
photo by Donna Danoff
Since God created us to be us, He also placed convictions and questions in our hearts that He knew would lead us to our purpose, our vocation, our place in life. If we can hold on to what is important to us and keep asking questions along the way, we can grow into the people He intended us to be.
I am amazed and in awe that God has created me to write. I know this and believe this with all my heart. Ever since I was little I wanted to be a writer. I loved Jo in Little Women with her bundled manuscripts and ink spots on her hands. I adored getting lost in the worlds of Narnia and Middle Earth, solving mysteries with Nancy, George and Bess and riding on the back of the Black Stallion at dark at Belmont. I longed to create images and worlds and characters that could whisk other people away, that others would curl up with under their covers while sipping tea.
I never acted on this urge. People don’t become writers, or so I thought, but I never wanted to be anything else. I was in college and decided to go “into business” because that sounded wise and full of potential. The only thing that captured my attention in the biz school was marketing – creating products, slogans, ad copy, graphics and images - creating. And so I set my path. And it worked. I worked. I was good at it. I “succeeded” as the world would define it with a high paying job with a national company.
I had my first baby and had one of those talks with my hubby and all of a sudden I asked, just like David Byrne of the Talking Heads, “How did I get here?” I had a beautiful house, a loving husband, a perfect bundle of joy and a job others coveted. But, I wanted to be a writer.
My husband nudged, “If you want to write, write.” He’s an excellent nudger, especially when it comes to dream chasing.
And so, I write. I thought I would write fantasy, because that was my favorite genre to read. I’m enthralled with the world of Harry Potter and adored Meg, Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Witch and Mrs. Who, but that is not what I am intended to write. God has other plans.
I write real stories for real girls. There are no fairy godmothers or magic wands. Magical beasts don’t fill my pages nor do Prince Charmings. Instead I write about people like me, about characters who are multiple shades of people I know. I write about tough issues that no one wants to talk about. Things that stop a conversation at a dinner party in its tracks, or really heat it up. I write about eating disorders and sex and divorce and death and rape. I write about things that so many people deal with in the dark, in their personal “closets”, alone. I write to give them a voice, a sounding board, a place to start.
There are days I get frustrated. Days I get rejections or bad reviews. Days when I write and I write and I can’t get a scene on spot. Days when my characters lose their voices, or when the topics I write about are too difficult for me to face the next chapter I need to write. Days when I speak and the turnouts are low or the book sales are low or my ranking on Amazon nose dives.
But then God reminds me. He always does. The week I get a rejection is the same week I get two great magazine reviews. The day the mega church I was going to speak at cancels is the day a reader sends me an email telling me how something I wrote (let’s be honest, God wrote) touched their lives. And I know, this is what He intended me to do.
So, I’m signing off, so I can write. But I wanted to record this feeling, so the next time I get a ding or a “no thanks” or an “I don’t like it”, I can remember that I’m doing this for God. And that is all that matters. I wanted to ask you, “What convictions and questions has God placed in your heart? How are you going to act on them today?”
This is my life work; helping people understand and respond to this Message. It came as a sheer gift to me, a real surprise. God handling all the details. When it came to presenting the Message to people who had no background in God’s way, I was the least qualified of any of the available Christians. God saw to it that I was equipped, but you can be sure that it had nothing to do with my natural abilities. EPH 3:7-8
I am amazed and in awe that God has created me to write. I know this and believe this with all my heart. Ever since I was little I wanted to be a writer. I loved Jo in Little Women with her bundled manuscripts and ink spots on her hands. I adored getting lost in the worlds of Narnia and Middle Earth, solving mysteries with Nancy, George and Bess and riding on the back of the Black Stallion at dark at Belmont. I longed to create images and worlds and characters that could whisk other people away, that others would curl up with under their covers while sipping tea.
I never acted on this urge. People don’t become writers, or so I thought, but I never wanted to be anything else. I was in college and decided to go “into business” because that sounded wise and full of potential. The only thing that captured my attention in the biz school was marketing – creating products, slogans, ad copy, graphics and images - creating. And so I set my path. And it worked. I worked. I was good at it. I “succeeded” as the world would define it with a high paying job with a national company.
I had my first baby and had one of those talks with my hubby and all of a sudden I asked, just like David Byrne of the Talking Heads, “How did I get here?” I had a beautiful house, a loving husband, a perfect bundle of joy and a job others coveted. But, I wanted to be a writer.
My husband nudged, “If you want to write, write.” He’s an excellent nudger, especially when it comes to dream chasing.
And so, I write. I thought I would write fantasy, because that was my favorite genre to read. I’m enthralled with the world of Harry Potter and adored Meg, Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Witch and Mrs. Who, but that is not what I am intended to write. God has other plans.
I write real stories for real girls. There are no fairy godmothers or magic wands. Magical beasts don’t fill my pages nor do Prince Charmings. Instead I write about people like me, about characters who are multiple shades of people I know. I write about tough issues that no one wants to talk about. Things that stop a conversation at a dinner party in its tracks, or really heat it up. I write about eating disorders and sex and divorce and death and rape. I write about things that so many people deal with in the dark, in their personal “closets”, alone. I write to give them a voice, a sounding board, a place to start.
There are days I get frustrated. Days I get rejections or bad reviews. Days when I write and I write and I can’t get a scene on spot. Days when my characters lose their voices, or when the topics I write about are too difficult for me to face the next chapter I need to write. Days when I speak and the turnouts are low or the book sales are low or my ranking on Amazon nose dives.
But then God reminds me. He always does. The week I get a rejection is the same week I get two great magazine reviews. The day the mega church I was going to speak at cancels is the day a reader sends me an email telling me how something I wrote (let’s be honest, God wrote) touched their lives. And I know, this is what He intended me to do.
So, I’m signing off, so I can write. But I wanted to record this feeling, so the next time I get a ding or a “no thanks” or an “I don’t like it”, I can remember that I’m doing this for God. And that is all that matters. I wanted to ask you, “What convictions and questions has God placed in your heart? How are you going to act on them today?”
This is my life work; helping people understand and respond to this Message. It came as a sheer gift to me, a real surprise. God handling all the details. When it came to presenting the Message to people who had no background in God’s way, I was the least qualified of any of the available Christians. God saw to it that I was equipped, but you can be sure that it had nothing to do with my natural abilities. EPH 3:7-8
How I became a Christian
How I Became A Christian
"What are you going to wear tonight?" Tami asked as she removed her silver bracelets.
I pulled the ponytail holder out of my matted hair and waited to hear Kris's response. I had stuffed a pair of cutoff shorts and a lavender tank top with a satin trim into my duffel bag, but I also packed a plain white T-shirt. I debated over which top to wear to the big campfire. I wanted to look cute, since this was our last night at horse camp, but I didn't want to look too put together for a fire on the mountainside.
"I'm just wearing my Marmon Valley t-shirt with khaki shorts," Kris called from the shower. "It's too hot to think about an outfit."
"I think I'll wear something black," Tami laughed. Kris and I giggled with her. Tami wore something black every day.
"T-shirt and shorts for me," I gurgled while immersing my head in the cold jets of water. I'll just be casual, I decided. This night was about more than looks.
After dinner, it was time to hike up the slope to the week's finale, the campfire on the mountain. This was our first year as senior campers and our first time to be included in the bonfire ritual. Kris stood in the middle, with Tami and me on each side of her, arm in arm, singing songs and giggling as we made our ascent.
I could smell the rich smoke of the fire before I could see it.
Several campers had already staked out seats on the large logs that served as benches angling aroudn the bonfire. We walked toward the roaring orange and red flames. The heat and smoke brought tears to the corners of my eyes. Counselors doled out marshmallows. After roasting and eating our sticky treats, Kris, Tami and I settled into seats halfway back from the blaze.
By now, most everyone was here. The counselors stood up, one at a time, and told memorable stories from the week. As we clapped and stomped in applause, the guitars started playing.
Music was my favorite part of each camp day. Ahtough my singing voice was as melodious as a sea gull's, I loved to belt out the rhythmic tunes. We sang at the end of every meal, and since Marmon Valley was a Christian camp, we sang Christian songs. I had never known praising God could be so much fun. All of the songs at my family's conservative church were played on the organ, and the hymnal dated most of them as being written in the 1800s.
The guitarists led us in some of our favorites. They sang the verses, and we shouted back the choruses. Then the mood changed. The strumming got softer. What was this next song? I was sure I had heard it before.
The smoke from the fire seemed whiter, or was it just easier to see it against the darkening sky? When had the sun gone down? When had the stars come out to light up the evening? I reached out my arms and placed them on Tami's and Kris's shoulders. Automatically, they put their arms around me, too. We swayed to the soft melody.
No one was singing, yet the guitars kept playing this beautiful tune. Then Steve, one of the counselors, stood up. Tami, Kris and I had all professed serious crushes on Steve the first night in our bunks. He was cute and funny.
"I am a Christian," Steve said. "four years ago on this very night I dedicated my life to Jesus Christ, and my life has never been the same. We hope your week here has been fun. We hope you have learned alot about horsemanship and made a lot of friends, but we hope you have experienced something more. We hope you have gotten to know our Lord."
Goosebumps crept up my arms and legs. What was he saying? It felt as if he were speaking directly to me.
The other counselors joined Steve. They all stood in front of us, arm in arm. The music continued and they softly sang,
There's a fire on the mountain tonight,
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide...
We sang this song all week, but differently. We usually sang it loud and fast with upbeat verses, strategic hand-claps and foot stomps. I had never paused to consider what the lytics meant. Steve continued over the soft singing, "I invite any of you here who feel called to choose Jesus as your personal Savior to come forward at this time." Something inside my heart gave a tug.
Was anybody really going to go up? Should I go? What did it mean to invite Jesus into your heart? I was already a Christian, wasn't I? I went to church almost every Sunday with my parents. I could never get up in front of this whole group. Were Tami and Kris going to go up? What would they think if I walked forward...or if I didn't?
As if pulled by a magnet, my body stood up before I could answer any of the questions racing through my brain. I struggled to sit down before I embarassed myself, yet my feet moved forward. Cecilia, my riding instructor, reached out as I approached the front. She ushered me to a smooth spot on the ground where we could sit. The heat of the fire distorted my vision. Everything looked wavy and out of focus.
"Laura," Cecilia said in a near-whisper, "do you take Jesus as your personal Savior?"
"I do," the words popped out of my mouth. I was completely unprepared for the emotions that swept over me. My entire body was emptied. My whole self left the thirteen-year old girl's frame wearing the cut-off shorts and white T-shirt. I felt a chill and an empty aching as I gasped for air. Then, as quickly as my old being had been drained, a new self filled me. I felt warm and tingly. Tears poured down my face as all of the fear, shame, and uncertainty I ever felt was replaced by a pure and beautiful love like I had never experienced.
Cecilia held me and we rocked. I lost all sense of time and space. From the moment I knelt on the ground with Cecilia to the time she stood me up was a blur. When had the music stopped? When had the fire burned down to embers? Had anyone else come forward? What had the campers who had remained in their seats done? I didn't have answers, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. I was different. God lived within me. The Holy Spirit had come to live in me! With Gods' love, I could do anything. The things I wanted to do were different too. I couldn't wait to share my experience with my friends, my family and my world.
I glanced around for Kris and Tami. I didn't see Kris, but Tami was walking toward me. I could tell she had prayed the same prayer I had. Her eyes glowed with His incomparable love.
"Let's go," she whispered.
We made our way toward the mulch path. Tami's arm felt just right around my waist. As we started our descent, we sang together the rest of the chorus.
Tell me would you be okay, if you had to die today?
There's a fire on the mountain tonight.
"What are you going to wear tonight?" Tami asked as she removed her silver bracelets.
I pulled the ponytail holder out of my matted hair and waited to hear Kris's response. I had stuffed a pair of cutoff shorts and a lavender tank top with a satin trim into my duffel bag, but I also packed a plain white T-shirt. I debated over which top to wear to the big campfire. I wanted to look cute, since this was our last night at horse camp, but I didn't want to look too put together for a fire on the mountainside.
"I'm just wearing my Marmon Valley t-shirt with khaki shorts," Kris called from the shower. "It's too hot to think about an outfit."
"I think I'll wear something black," Tami laughed. Kris and I giggled with her. Tami wore something black every day.
"T-shirt and shorts for me," I gurgled while immersing my head in the cold jets of water. I'll just be casual, I decided. This night was about more than looks.
After dinner, it was time to hike up the slope to the week's finale, the campfire on the mountain. This was our first year as senior campers and our first time to be included in the bonfire ritual. Kris stood in the middle, with Tami and me on each side of her, arm in arm, singing songs and giggling as we made our ascent.
I could smell the rich smoke of the fire before I could see it.
Several campers had already staked out seats on the large logs that served as benches angling aroudn the bonfire. We walked toward the roaring orange and red flames. The heat and smoke brought tears to the corners of my eyes. Counselors doled out marshmallows. After roasting and eating our sticky treats, Kris, Tami and I settled into seats halfway back from the blaze.
By now, most everyone was here. The counselors stood up, one at a time, and told memorable stories from the week. As we clapped and stomped in applause, the guitars started playing.
Music was my favorite part of each camp day. Ahtough my singing voice was as melodious as a sea gull's, I loved to belt out the rhythmic tunes. We sang at the end of every meal, and since Marmon Valley was a Christian camp, we sang Christian songs. I had never known praising God could be so much fun. All of the songs at my family's conservative church were played on the organ, and the hymnal dated most of them as being written in the 1800s.
The guitarists led us in some of our favorites. They sang the verses, and we shouted back the choruses. Then the mood changed. The strumming got softer. What was this next song? I was sure I had heard it before.
The smoke from the fire seemed whiter, or was it just easier to see it against the darkening sky? When had the sun gone down? When had the stars come out to light up the evening? I reached out my arms and placed them on Tami's and Kris's shoulders. Automatically, they put their arms around me, too. We swayed to the soft melody.
No one was singing, yet the guitars kept playing this beautiful tune. Then Steve, one of the counselors, stood up. Tami, Kris and I had all professed serious crushes on Steve the first night in our bunks. He was cute and funny.
"I am a Christian," Steve said. "four years ago on this very night I dedicated my life to Jesus Christ, and my life has never been the same. We hope your week here has been fun. We hope you have learned alot about horsemanship and made a lot of friends, but we hope you have experienced something more. We hope you have gotten to know our Lord."
Goosebumps crept up my arms and legs. What was he saying? It felt as if he were speaking directly to me.
The other counselors joined Steve. They all stood in front of us, arm in arm. The music continued and they softly sang,
There's a fire on the mountain tonight,
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide...
We sang this song all week, but differently. We usually sang it loud and fast with upbeat verses, strategic hand-claps and foot stomps. I had never paused to consider what the lytics meant. Steve continued over the soft singing, "I invite any of you here who feel called to choose Jesus as your personal Savior to come forward at this time." Something inside my heart gave a tug.
Was anybody really going to go up? Should I go? What did it mean to invite Jesus into your heart? I was already a Christian, wasn't I? I went to church almost every Sunday with my parents. I could never get up in front of this whole group. Were Tami and Kris going to go up? What would they think if I walked forward...or if I didn't?
As if pulled by a magnet, my body stood up before I could answer any of the questions racing through my brain. I struggled to sit down before I embarassed myself, yet my feet moved forward. Cecilia, my riding instructor, reached out as I approached the front. She ushered me to a smooth spot on the ground where we could sit. The heat of the fire distorted my vision. Everything looked wavy and out of focus.
"Laura," Cecilia said in a near-whisper, "do you take Jesus as your personal Savior?"
"I do," the words popped out of my mouth. I was completely unprepared for the emotions that swept over me. My entire body was emptied. My whole self left the thirteen-year old girl's frame wearing the cut-off shorts and white T-shirt. I felt a chill and an empty aching as I gasped for air. Then, as quickly as my old being had been drained, a new self filled me. I felt warm and tingly. Tears poured down my face as all of the fear, shame, and uncertainty I ever felt was replaced by a pure and beautiful love like I had never experienced.
Cecilia held me and we rocked. I lost all sense of time and space. From the moment I knelt on the ground with Cecilia to the time she stood me up was a blur. When had the music stopped? When had the fire burned down to embers? Had anyone else come forward? What had the campers who had remained in their seats done? I didn't have answers, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. I was different. God lived within me. The Holy Spirit had come to live in me! With Gods' love, I could do anything. The things I wanted to do were different too. I couldn't wait to share my experience with my friends, my family and my world.
I glanced around for Kris and Tami. I didn't see Kris, but Tami was walking toward me. I could tell she had prayed the same prayer I had. Her eyes glowed with His incomparable love.
"Let's go," she whispered.
We made our way toward the mulch path. Tami's arm felt just right around my waist. As we started our descent, we sang together the rest of the chorus.
Tell me would you be okay, if you had to die today?
There's a fire on the mountain tonight.