I was about eight years old. Expressing myself in poetry and frustrated with my little brothers, I wrote a poem about boys. I don’t remember the words, but the gist of it was a rhyming song about their rambunctious, annoying and pestering attributes.
I loved them but hated them and had no problem saying so or exerting my larger sister self influence on them.
That poem was my ‘masterpiece’ and I thought pretty highly of myself, so of course I believed it to be amazing. When presented to my mom, her frown and lack of praise stunned my little prideful self and dashed my hopes at being an accomplished writer.
This seemingly inconsequential moment marked me. I grumbled to myself, tore the paper to pieces and threw myself on my bed behind slammed door to cry away my dismay. I continued to mutter and make declarations that further cemented the belief that I would ‘never be a writer’. I really can’t recall my mother’s words but the words I spoke about myself that day haunted me all the way to College Composition many years later. When a paper written for class came back with red marks all over it and severe criticism, I coldly decided, yet again, that writing would never be my ‘thing’.
The only problem with all of that mess was…I loved words…I loved to write and alliterate… I loved the dance upon the paper… and I incessantly wrote poems and journal-ed about everything in my life.
Fast forward many years, many life experiences, many teachers and many hours of schooling.
I had an encounter with the Living God at seventeen that altered my life path. In the process, on that path, God began to speak to me about the words that came up out of me and onto the paper. I began to realize that this passion to create, this hunger to express, this ‘gift,’ was not of me, the imperfect human, but was from God. He wanted to rise up out of the ashes of defeat and declare truth, life and freedom to the captives. This revelation opened up a hidden reservoir that poured forth with gallons and gallons of water to quench not only my thirst but that of others.
So, yes, from that poem, “Boys”, from a fractured vessel came an act of worship. From self talk that damaged the vessel came words to lift up and mend and make whole.
Here, I say, “Yes and AMEN! to whatever the Lord wants to do with this vessel.”
I say, “Have Your way, sweet Jesus. Do as You would like to do with this blog. It is Yours alone.”
Let me lay face down before You, let me be willing to be corrected, let me raise hands up to be led by Your Spirit!
Thank You for all You desire to do and all You ARE doing!!!
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” -Philipians 2:3