A Girl Can Still Dream, Can’t She?

“Don’t ask me about being a writer. 

If when you wake up in the morning

you can think of nothing but writing,

then you’re a writer!” 

~Rainer Maria Rilke

I’m not sure how many years ago I first heard this quote shared by Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act II, but I remember it made me cry.  I remember as a teenager wishing I could be a writer.  As a young mom, I wished I could express everything happening in my life so I could keep all my memories filed somewhere better than my brain – it seems I misfile too much stuff there and cannot pull it up when I want to enjoy it.  I remember when I started teaching school fifteen years ago I wanted to keep a journal – but teaching took too much time for me to make notes every day.  I battled cancer for so many days, weeks, months and even years – and yes, I did start a journal but was too afraid to write my fears in case they came true, and too afraid to dream of a future in case it didn’t come true.  And now, as a grandmother, Facebook has given me the joy of memories from the past that pop up every day – to my utter joy.  I realize memory-keeping is worth the time and I need to make time to do it!

Really, the only time I truly “attempted” to write, was while blogging the last summer of my mother’s life as I cared for her and it was easier to let so many who wanted to know what was happening read my almost daily ramblings of the joys and struggles of loving her home to Jesus.  The feedback from those blogs, eventually viewed more than 10,000 times, should have been just the encouragement I needed to pursue my dream.  But the grief that came with the loss of my mom made it almost impossible to write.  I kept my pain trapped inside and put on a smile and kept living when I just wanted to die with her and go to a better life.  I didn’t want to kill myself – it was nothing morbid like that.  I just wanted the pain and emptiness left when she and dad both left within a year of each other.  Dad had spoiled me through the early years of my life and was more friend and confidante than father because being a pastor made making time for fatherhood challenging.  But Mom had stepped up to the plate sharing my pains and sorrows and celebrating every joy whether large or small.  How could I even think of writing with a gaping wound of loss and grief in my heart.

Now I’m sixty-two years old and no spring chicken.  This is probably not the best time to decide to make a dream come true.  But the dream has never gone away and I still wake up every morning thinking of writing.  I actually put together a writing room and enrolled in a writing course a few years ago.  But the room was needed for a granddaughter to borrow for a few years while God helped my son and daughter-in-law work out problems.  Now the room is empty again, and every time I pass by the door I picture my “writing room” and realize I let the dream die.  But apparently dreams don’t really die.  They escape sometimes (yes, I just looked up and saw the word “escape” on TV and it was the perfect word to describe what happens).  When we stop dreaming, the dream escapes to a place where it festers – wounded and broken, but still hoping for resurrection.  And I believe God is somehow doing what God always does.  He’s working all things to good in my life and a resurrection is happening.

Mark Twain is often attributed with instructing, “Write what you know!”  I’ve heard that quote so many times, but it just never made sense.  Besides, what did I really know?  All the fictional books I’d read didn’t appear to be first-person accounts of anything.  All the other books appeared to be written by “experts”.  But appearances can be deceiving, and I’ve discovered the times that I find it natural to write are the times I write about exactly what I know!  Surprise! 

So, I’m aiming to make a dream come true by writing what I know.  I’m going to trust God to give me words of encouragement, words of truth (in a world that doesn’t even know what truth is any more), words of transparency and honesty.  I’m going to let God teach me through my daily experiences what He wants me to know, and then I’m going to share it with others believing He wants them to know too.  Yes, I worry that this is the behavior of a narcissist who’s just looking for attention.  I worry I think too highly of myself.  But most of all I worry that if I don’t start now the dream cannot be resurrected before I die…and then the dream will die with me.

I will share my writings, rantings, revelations and thoughts and put them out there for folks to read if they care to do so.  I will not expect anyone to read them.  But I will have put to pen and paper those things that are of import to me. I hope in the future my own grandchildren, and even their grandchildren, will find my words and value them as part of their personal histories and what flows through the blood in their veins.

If you’ve read this far and you’re really not interested in anything I have to say, the nice thing is you never again have to click on one of the blog links I share.  You won’t know what you’re missing, so it will have absolutely no effect on you.  I won’t know you didn’t read it, so there’s no hurt feelings on my end.  But if you’ve read this far and hope to read more later, I want to share my biggest desire in doing this.  I WANT TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS TOO!!!  We seem to go through life now like “ships that pass in the night.” (from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.)  See, I not only like to write, I like to read what others have written.  You’re very likely to see a lot of quotes shared in my blogs.  But I don’t want to pass by you.  I believe in a Sovereign God who has planned every step of my path, including the paths my path crosses.  I don’t believe it’s an accident that you are in my life.  So please take the time to comment or share a thought or two (or seventy) along the way and let me know your heart and not just your face!

And thank you to all who have given an encouraging word in the past.  I would love to be a “fancy” writer like many I admire (Max Lucado, Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Voskamp come to mind…all able to weave words like a beautiful ballerina floating across a stage with seamless movement).  I’m just going to be plain, old me (emphasis on “old” because…well…62).  May you be encouraged to dream and keep dreaming, blessed to know some of us flawed folks never give up, and may you know this heart is thankful for the role you’ve played in helping to make me who I am!