I was recently told to generate basic who, what, when, why, where, and how questions to come up with writing ideas for my editorial internship assignments. However, these seem to apply really well to my entire life right now...
WHO am I? WHO am I meant to be on earth...both now, and later? WHO does God see?
WHAT am I meant to do? WHAT am I supposed to do right now, in the meantime? WHAT am I doing wrong? WHAT am I (if anything) doing right?
WHEN will I reach that calling? WHEN will I know I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing? WHEN will I feel peace?
WHY am I here? WHY have these things happened, or not happened? WHY does God so often seem silent? WHY is this so ridiculously complicated? WHY does it hurt?
WHERE am I honestly headed anyway? WHERE do I start? WHERE should I go, or not go?
HOW do I actually get there? HOW do I know I'm on the right path? HOW do I know what to pursue, and what to avoid? HOW do I keep my own feelings and desires from clouding my judgment as I listen to discern the will of God?
Maybe I could type a million more questions. I don't know. But I take comfort in many things; I feel more peace even here, where I am, than I did before. And I know it's possible to find peace in God now, for He is the source of peace, a peace that surpasses all understanding. He also wants me to be content and provides the means to find contentment no matter what my circumstances. He is my source of strength when I am weak.
Today, in another bout of despair, I thought, "My self-esteem is plummeting daily." The rejections seem to pile up. Life is...mean. I don't have thick skin. I'm not strong. My spirit is wearing down with the wait and the "deferred hope" that breaks the heart. But...I don't need self-esteem, do I?
I thought maybe my dreams--my writing aspirations, my accomplishments, my talents--defined who I am. After all, I breathe and eat and live words. I write words, I read words, I think words, I adore words, I fear words, I use words, I work words, I dream words. Seriously. My brain doesn't shut off. I always have something to say; my heart might burst if I didn't form words for my ideas and thoughts. I can't imagine life without them. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't sharing stories. Even when I couldn't read or write.
But do my dreams reflect who I am, or have I just formed them out of things I've loved and learned and known? I trust with all my heart that God gave me words. I believe, deep down, that there are words in my heart He means for me to share. I don't know when. Or how. Or to whom. A huge crowd of readers? Or a small group of friends? I don't know the span of my life...what if I died tomorrow? What then? What have I left behind? Words that outlive me? Words that encourage? Words that uplift? Words that strengthen?
What if I never publish a book? What if the words were taken away? What if I never wrote again? Would I still be me? Well, of course. God has plans I don't even know about; plans that go deeper than my own. He says so...doesn't He?
I can't seem to separate myself from my definition of a writer. Take it away, remove the dreams, and I'm not sure where I belong. God gave Adam and Eve work; I trust He has a task for me too. One only I can accomplish. Right?
But I am so much more than an imperfect writer. I am His. And that's a perfect place to be. The closest to perfection I have ever been, only because of His perfection covering me.
So what if I never wrote again? What if I never shared the words in my heart? What if I spent my entire life, separated irrevocably from humanity, and only lived to praise God?
Then, wouldn't that be enough?
Maybe I could type a million more questions. I don't know. But I take comfort in many things; I feel more peace even here, where I am, than I did before. And I know it's possible to find peace in God now, for He is the source of peace, a peace that surpasses all understanding. He also wants me to be content and provides the means to find contentment no matter what my circumstances. He is my source of strength when I am weak.
Today, in another bout of despair, I thought, "My self-esteem is plummeting daily." The rejections seem to pile up. Life is...mean. I don't have thick skin. I'm not strong. My spirit is wearing down with the wait and the "deferred hope" that breaks the heart. But...I don't need self-esteem, do I?
I thought maybe my dreams--my writing aspirations, my accomplishments, my talents--defined who I am. After all, I breathe and eat and live words. I write words, I read words, I think words, I adore words, I fear words, I use words, I work words, I dream words. Seriously. My brain doesn't shut off. I always have something to say; my heart might burst if I didn't form words for my ideas and thoughts. I can't imagine life without them. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't sharing stories. Even when I couldn't read or write.
But do my dreams reflect who I am, or have I just formed them out of things I've loved and learned and known? I trust with all my heart that God gave me words. I believe, deep down, that there are words in my heart He means for me to share. I don't know when. Or how. Or to whom. A huge crowd of readers? Or a small group of friends? I don't know the span of my life...what if I died tomorrow? What then? What have I left behind? Words that outlive me? Words that encourage? Words that uplift? Words that strengthen?
What if I never publish a book? What if the words were taken away? What if I never wrote again? Would I still be me? Well, of course. God has plans I don't even know about; plans that go deeper than my own. He says so...doesn't He?
I can't seem to separate myself from my definition of a writer. Take it away, remove the dreams, and I'm not sure where I belong. God gave Adam and Eve work; I trust He has a task for me too. One only I can accomplish. Right?
But I am so much more than an imperfect writer. I am His. And that's a perfect place to be. The closest to perfection I have ever been, only because of His perfection covering me.
So what if I never wrote again? What if I never shared the words in my heart? What if I spent my entire life, separated irrevocably from humanity, and only lived to praise God?
Then, wouldn't that be enough?
