This morning, I asked the only person who knows I'm writing as A Divine Nobody to read through a couple of preliminary posts and give me some feedback. After reading several drafts, they stopped and asked me a question, "Why are you writing?" I shifted a bit in my seat on the sofa. I admit the question did sting for a moment, but as we continued talking about this question, something began to stir within and it's been churning like a stormy sea all day long.
"Why are you writing?"
Why am I writing? That's a darn good question. I admit this is brand new, unfamiliar terrain I'm negotiating. On top of that, it's experimental - I'm writing anonymously for goodness sakes. This means I have no intention of letting anyone in my tribe know what I'm doing. I have zero followers, and have no ambitions of hosting a "grand-opening" party for the blogging world. I'm really not interested in being known, much less well-known, and have never identified myself as a writer. So what does one do when they have a desire for anonymity and they struggle with writing? If you answered "write a blog," then you're as unhinged as I think this idea is.
Yet here I am. I've created a space to write just for me. Golly. All this makes me feel like a gangly middle schooler, with crazy long legs and arms that still feel like foreign appendages, trying to be cool as they lumber across the lunch-room. Is that the craziest thing you've ever heard?
I would shout "yes" as loudly as I could through a megaphone, were it not for the massive grin on my face and my insides giggling like a kindergartner with a kitten?
Why am I writing? I really have no other reason than it makes me happy. And I just have to believe that my Father giggles with me as I stumble along with putting words into sentences that make any sense at all. I believe I make Him smile. He loves it when I get so caught up in playing with words and phrases that express my thoughts and feelings, that the noise of the world dies away and I'm finally able to hear Him whisper.
Why am I writing? To hear Father whisper. Each day there is a longing so deep in my soul that nothing can fill except Him. I just want to feel His smile and hear Him softly say "Yes, my child. Write what your heart longs for. Let My joy for you overflow from within you. I made you to create. So, go on. Create. Shine." And I become like a child, glancing up at the wide, big grin of my father as he watches me play or dance or color or perform, and his pleasure makes me want to relax and enjoy myself with greater gusto than I ever have before.
That's the moment . . . the moment when I get lost in the joy that comes from knowing I'm pleasing my Father.
That's why I am writing. I'm writing for the moment . . .
When God smiles.