The puffy cumulus clouds slowly flow by the baby blue sky, their constant backdrop; watching in wonder, my eyes begin to focus on a plant my mother gave me before she passed, the pink flowers radiant as they give forth their own unique beauty. Everything naturally working in unison at just the right time to make the spectacular almost ordinary. Time almost stand still, a beautiful flower seemingly frozen if only for a few brief moments.
I’ve always written, it’s always just been there as far back as memory allows. I never paid much attention to this writing thing because I assumed everyone wrote. Assuming after all it was second nature to me so it must be to everyone else right?
Those familiar words, ‘When you were a child you thought as a child’ come flooding to my mind now as I write this blog. It seemed as if although there were many experiences throughout life to write about, which I did, I never considered sharing. True to the gift words just seemed to flow from the depths of me without much work at all making the pen or these days a computer, a constant companion. Still I remained quite and calculating always watching and internalizing.
Writing I now realize is one of my God given gifts it’s scary, comforting and invigorating. It is that thing that one knows and or does instinctually. This defines who we are and is one of the things we were designed to do by God himself.
As Pastor Jerome reminds us of God’s words to us in Haggai 1:6 ‘You have planted much, but harvested little….’ For many a year I would take in the experiences of life searing them onto my heart doing nothing more than work through them as I drafted them as plays within the theater of my mind as each experience was given to me slowly working through each one. However, I found shortly after my mother passed that all the writing came out with more of a fierceness than before, much darkness had now become like a light automatically known to me as days turn to weeks and weeks years.
It was and is like being seared with some fire unseen by others yet still I refused to move. After finally sharing my writings with a few select friends, they did their best to encourage me, yet something was still holding me back. It’s hard to explain I was still scared, very scared. Of what I’m not even sure, maybe the thought of it being so natural that I had no real control over it and I wasn’t sure I could rely on it. I had convinced myself that frankly it was better to be left to my own thoughts on paper than to take any possible imagined scrutiny and or judgments for being myself.
As Pastor Jerome pushes us to fully grasp what God tells each of us specifically, it screamed today of that beautiful pink flower I see now, on that sturdy hibiscus plant, the gift that is unique to me making the spectacular gift of writing, almost ordinary. No longer frozen in time, yet now because of the Grace of God it flows freely in the winds of everlasting life going anywhere the winds of happiness take it.
Written By: Lisa Wooldridge,
Cypress UMC Member and Volunteer