Writing

I've been thinking a lot about the people who say "you should write a book." I always smile and thank them; it is a compliment, after all. Once upon a time I had that dream, but I don't anymore. For a lot of reasons I won't try to sort out here.

I think people are meant to use their gifts in different ways. Some artists make it big, some don't. I'm a don't, and I think for good reason.

Writing saves me. A trusted friend here in Chapel Hill said to me, as I was going through the early stages of grief, that this journey with autism might be the perfect opportunity for me to write. She was right, but not in a I've-found-my-book kind of way. Writing has always been a gift in my darkness and a way of working out my salvation. In the most difficult season of my life, when air was hard to breathe, writing saved me.

When I told my Bible study friends one December that I thought God was calling me to write, I misunderstood the purpose. I worked so hard at my writing, poured my heart into it, and I'll never forget my last experience at She Speaks; it was a beautiful meeting with God.  Though I'll never understand it all, I know that at least part of the significance of that time - that call to write - was to keep me alive, both physically and spiritually.

I don't regret any of it. Not the hundreds of dollars or countless hours. But, for so many reasons, I know there's no book in me. I've thought about short articles? essays? Maybe. If not, I'm ok. I've heard it said, "And if not… He is still good." Well, that's true here. If there's no writing career, God is still good. And I am ok.