Dear fellow creative,

Last weekend kicked my butt–physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

With my school year schedule keeping me busy during the week, I’ve relied on the weekends–namely, Saturdays–to get in the focused writing time I need to keep moving forward in my WIP.

Two weekends ago, I attended the online ACFW VA Royal Writers Conference. Though it took my whole weekend of writing time, I was willing to sacrifice those two days for the chance to learn about my craft, be encouraged, and connect with fellow Christian writers. Sure enough, the conference fueled me, inspired me, motivated me afresh, and gave me new tools for my writer’s toolbox. I couldn’t wait for the next weekend to roll around so I could bring this renewed passion to my WIP.

Saturday morning, however, I woke up sick. Both my body and brain had shut down, and I struggled to go through my morning routine, let alone tackle the mental processes of writing. The writing time I had planned with a friend turned into the easier option of rereading my current chapters to get back into the story and “warm up” for the actual writing.

The actual writing never happened. I felt too crummy to come back to my WIP the rest of the day and ended up losing the entire weekend. And I was mad. (It’s one thing to know you won’t have your usual writing time and plan around it; it’s another thing to plan for it and hope for it for over two weeks and then be unexpectedly disappointed.)

Sunday night I yelled at God, in my kitchen as I sobbed over the dishes and in my journal with all caps.

WHY? Why is it the one day I have to write that gets pulled away from me? Why do You hold me up for the work days the rest of the week and then drop me for my writing day? Do You not want me to write this book?

(Not recommended. Yes, God’s big enough to take our emotional outbursts, but my good Father deserves better than my juvenile temper tantrums. I made it up with Him before going to bed.)

I do not doubt that God has given me these ideas, these characters, these journeys and themes to write and share. I have seen Him turn on the lightbulb and fit the pieces together too many times to doubt His hand behind this project. Yet even in that knowledge, I couldn’t get away from the question that has appeared time and time again in the pages of my journal: Then why is it SO HARD?

Even as I asked these questions, another question was stirring in the depths of my soul that would eventually rise to the surface to stare me in the eye: Was I really trying? Was I letting obstacles like this sick day roll over me–and roll me over–instead of standing up to them, or even jumping over them? Was I as dedicated as I could be to this craft, this gift, this calling?

On Monday I had a conversation about my stories and my dreams for them, and as I spoke of my current writing journey and its struggles, I heard myself say some things I didn’t like. I didn’t like them because 1) if someone heard them who didn’t know me, they would sound an awful lot like excuses, and 2) even to me, who knows me, they sounded like excuses.

As I thought about those words, along with the questions of my heart from the weekend, God put the pieces together for me: I was expecting Him to do what was really my job. I was looking at this talent He’s given me and waiting for Him to do something with it. I was believing that if He wanted me to do it, He would divinely make it happen.

Ultimately, I was blaming Him for taking away what I had let go of.

Just because it’s hard–or takes forever, or comes with challenges–doesn’t mean it’s not God’s will. While He sometimes uses green light after green light, from driveway to destination, to mark His will, most of the time His calling comes with a lot of red lights, U-turns, and traffic jams.

For instance: God called Paul to be a missionary, but nations of people weren’t immediately saved around the world. Paul had to travel from country to country to share the gospel, through the challenges of rejection, misunderstanding, sickness, beatings, and near death (to name a few).

In the Old Testament, God gave Joseph a glimpse of his promising future in a dream that wouldn’t come true for over twenty years–with enslavement, imprisonment, and a LOT of work in between.

God sent Moses to deliver the Israelites from Egypt to the Promised Land, but they didn’t step out of Egypt and right into Canaan. No, first Moses had to unite the Israelites, then he and his brother had to face Pharaoh in an epic battle of deities, then they had to escape Pharaoh, then they had to reach Canaan, and then they had to wander in the wilderness for forty more years before crossing into the Promised Land. Once they were in the Promised Land, it took them another several decades under Joshua’s leadership to conquer and settle the land.

Perhaps the most telling comparison that has come to my mind is that of sanctification. God calls us to be like Christ, but He doesn’t magically make us identical to Christ the moment we’re saved. He saves us in the miraculous act of salvation, but then He tells us to “work out [our] own salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12). We have to partner with the Holy Spirit to identify, confess, and repent from sin in the rest-of-our-life process called sanctification: becoming like Christ. Yes, it’s ultimately God’s work, but we have our own work to do right alongside Him.

God has called me to be a writer and, specifically, to write these stories. But that doesn’t mean my schedule will magically clear to give me writing time. That doesn’t mean the words will automatically flood onto the page at a rate of ten chapters a day. That doesn’t mean my community around these stories will suddenly spring into being.

I have to work for it.

BUT, I’m not alone in this work. If God has called me to it, God will guide me through it. It’s my job, however, to set the schedule, plan out the plot, invest in the community, and put butt in chair and fingers to keyboard to write each scene, each chapter, each page.

God can turn two fish and five loaves into enough food to feed a multitude. But He still asks us for the fish and loaves.

I can–and should–trust God with the results of my story writing and community building. But He still asks me for something to work with.

I’ve been listening through the audiobooks of The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander, and this passage from the end of the fourth book, Taran Wanderer, struck me:

Before Taran’s eyes Annlaw began shaping a tall, slender vessel. As Taran stared in awe, the clay seemed to shimmer on the swiftly turning wheel and to change from moment to moment. Now Taran understood Annlaw’s words, for indeed between the potter’s deft fingers and the clay he saw no separation, as though Annlaw’s hands flowed into the clay and gave it life. . . .

“Fflewddur was wrong,” Taran murmured. “If there is enchantment, it lies not in the potter’s wheel but in the potter.”

“Enchantment there is none,” answered Annlaw, never turning from his work. “A gift, perhaps, but a gift that bears with it much toil.”

Taran Wanderer, Ch. 19

God has given us gifts, yet each gift “bears with it much toil.” Toil that He gives us to do. Toil that brings joy and reward (even in the frustration and sorrow). Toil that, ultimately, makes us like Him.

I wrote this message to two of my writer friends Monday night:

This weekend has kicked my butt but also, with today, been the kick in the pants I needed. I’ve let obstacles roll me over and get the better of me rather than staying on my feet and getting over the obstacles.

This is my dream, to write and publish books, and I will not let it go.

I choose to chase this dream. I choose to fight for it. I choose to hope in eventual, invisible reward for my present, visible effort. I choose to look at obstacles as opportunities and at least persevere through them if not jump over them.

This is God’s calling and the ideas are from Him, but this dream won’t happen by magic, or overnight. I have to work for it. Thankfully, though, I have God’s strength with me in this work!

“The soul of a lazy man desires, and has nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall be made rich” (Prov.‬ ‭13‬:‭4).‬ ‭ Granted, there are times when life legitimately limits what I can do, but I’m tired of just handing over my writing time without a fight. I don’t want to ever not try. So this is my Declaration of Independence from limiting beliefs and the falsehoods that have kept me locked in helplessness and frustration for too long. Ya no más–not anymore!

The image that came to mind earlier today was a dog with a haunch of meat or a rope toy–jaws locked, teeth sunk in, legs braced, neck stiff. Not letting go no matter how much you pull or wrest or twist.

This is my dream. I’m not letting go.

Naftali (and world), here I come!

As I wrote out this manifesto, the words of “This Is Me” from The Greatest Showman ran through my head:

Who says the sharpest words can’t come from ourselves–or from the Adversary who hates all our creative, subcreating, glorious work?

I was telling myself–and believing–lies about myself and about God. And I have no doubt Satan had at least a finger if not a whole hand in those lies. After all, if God has called me to write, and writing is the gift He has given me, and using it in subcreation will bring glory to the Creator and express my likeness to the Him–won’t Satan try to tear that down?

Absolutely.

So, fellow creative, if you’ve faced any of these challenges, the next time you hear these lies, when the sharpest words wanna cut you down–send a flood and drown ’em out with the truth: the truth that in God’s plan there’s a place for us and, even when it’s hard, it is glorious.

You can even sing with me (or yell at Satan):

Look out ’cause here I come,
And I’m marching on to the beat He drums;
I am brave, I am bruised,
I am who I’m meant to be: this is me.

And I–like you, and like our God–am a creative.

For Him,
Melissa