Growing up I was a pretty average student.  If I studied, I did well.  If I didn’t, I did bad.  I was pretty envious of the kids who never studied and still got straight A’s.  I felt like I could study all night for a week and barely pull a B.  Needless to say, getting good grades didn’t come easy to me.

As a kid, I used to struggle with knowing what I wanted to be “when I grew up”.  I had to work so hard just to be average, and average was never appealing to me.  It’s not that I didn’t want to work hard, I just wanted to be good at whatever I was working hard at.

Because of this, I have struggled throughout the last ten years with a desire to write.  I kept thinking about the grades I brought home in English class all those years- my standard grade being an 86.  They weren’t bad, but not great either.  The first few years I just laughed it off.  This isn’t a real desire, I thought to myself, just another crazy idea that would fade away just like being a lawyer, politician, or the President of the U.S. was crazy.

So I began thinking of all the reasons why I couldn’t be a writer.  There’s no way…

  • In high school, I wasn’t the girl off writing short stories (I knew her) or captured by the latest reading assignment (I knew her to).  I was the one in the bookstore searching for Cliff Notes just to get by.
  • I’m neither creative nor imaginative- I’m way too realistic to be a writer.
  • I’m not good with grammar.  English teachers were way too excited about diagramming sentences, there had to be a better use of the English language.  I wanted meaning, and what I had experienced, was meaningless to me.

Strangely enough though, the desire hasn’t faded, but has only grown stronger.  Uh-oh, now what?

Over the last few years if someone were to ask me what one of my dreams are, I would likely respond, “to publish a book”.  It seemed like a big goal for a girl like me- just getting published would be huge.  But then I started thinking what would happen if I were to get a book published…then what?

Then it hit me.

Getting a book published cannot be my one big goal in life.  Shoot, If all I really cared about was getting one book published then there’s this great thing these days called self-publishing- it can be done.  But that’s really not what I want.

I feel like God is asking for more.  I feel like he’s asking me to become a writer not just publish a book.  I want to teach, inspire, and lead people closer to Jesus through my writing.  Whatever that may look like.  So much is changing in the publishing world right now and the way we read the written word.  But for me to say, “I just want to get a book published”, feels a little shallow to me.

I’ve learned so much about writing over the last few years.  I love reading and reading about writing.  I’ve learned that I actually enjoy the writing process.  I still find it strange that it actually energizes me.  When I imagine sitting somewhere all alone and writing with no distractions, it sounds like heaven.  Who would have thought?  The strangeness of it all is beginning to fade, but every so often, that girl in English class pops up every so often to remind me that this isn’t where I came from- it’s only something Someone else could do in me.  It’s in those moments that His grace is so real to me.

Whether I’m just writing a little blog post, a monthly newsletter, or a small group lesson plan, I’m continually amazed at how God is changing and growing me.  It’s not easy and it’s not without fear, but it sure is an exciting journey.