I have some friends in my life who have been “the wind beneath my wings” lately, to quote a cheesy song. These two, SA and CLA have given me courage and love and grace. CLA sat with me the other night even though she was dead-tired and probably would much rather have been sleeping than trying to draw some stuff out of me. She asked me, “What do you love?” I didn’t really answer so she asked me again after listening to ten minutes of my rambling.
“What do you love?” We needed for me to get to the bottom of this. And it wasn’t a question about what do I love in ministry; it was just about what I love, period. What am I called to in life? What am I passionate about? What am I drawn to?
But how does that fit into ministry? What do I do with that? What is my role???? There isn’t a neat little box that writing fits into. I’m not J.R.R. Tolkien. I’m not Madeleine L’Engle. I’m not Ernest Hemmingway. I’m not John Donne or Milton or Shakespeare…. I’m just me. I have said no to God on this one for a long time. He has presented me with “writing” and I have flat-out refused Him:
“I don’t know what to write.”
“I’m not that great of a writer compared to X, Y or Z.”
“I don’t have time to write.”
“No one is going to want to read it anyway.”
You don’t even know how many times that I have whined these exact sentiments. Somebody call the waaaaaam-bulance!!!!
Nonetheless, there it is before me and I need the courage to take hold of it with both hands which means letting go of my pathetic “need” to grasp at some phony role as Pastor’s Wife Barbie which no one – and I mean no one – is interested in anyway. Heck, I’m not even interested in it so how could anyone else be?!
Enough about me, though. I really wanted to share how much it meant to me that CLA would go out to the stable, hitch up the horses and drag this information out of me. Not only that, but she took this information and told me to go set Pastor’s Wife Barbie on fire with matches or to use her for target practice. OK, not really but she loves me and wants me to be me. She knows how desperately unhappy I have been for so long and she cares. She does. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.
Henry David Thoreau, "Walden", 1854