Knock, Knock! It's Me - God!

I always say that I never asked for much. I don't have any really major ambitions in my life. Growing up, I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be a wife and a mom. I wanted to live in a pretty house in a quiet neighborhood, hosting play dates and leading bible studies. Someday I'd like to write a novel - that's my "biggest" goal. I'll leave the high-rise executive jobs to the career women, the mansions to the doctor's wives, the silver screen to the waitress-slash-actresses. All I want is to be "normal."

Recently it struck me how I measure the loftiness of my dreams. It's pretty common to want things that come naturally and are social norms in our culture, like marriage and kids. I think we come to expect that those goals are merely milestones in life, inevitable, coming naturally in time to follow losing baby teeth and growing body hair. But talk to a single person in their 30s or 40s and you realize very quickly how love and marriage do not automatically come to everyone who wishes it. Visit with a couple who has been struggling to conceive for five years and you will see the agony of unattained parenthood.

Now how do my dreams measure up?

I married my high school sweetheart. I hit that one out of the park in terms of life achievement! We have been married for ten years and are better friends and partners with every day that passes. Yes, I know God gave me my greatest blessing - second to salvation - when he brought the two of us together. One very ordinary goal was made an extraordinary success for me.

Three little boys were graciously gifted to hubby and me. They are healthy, they are handsome, they are a handful with a capital H. I hug them closely every time my mind wanders to the five boys in heaven that the Lord called home as babes. To my hubby they are uncles, brother, and nephews. Priceless. To me they are my welcoming committee when I go Home (O Lord, haste the day!) and a constant reminder of the earthly blessing I have in my children. Was my average desire to be a mother very average in light of those five precious souls? Oh my...NO.

You know how I said I wanted a pretty house in a quiet neighborhood? Yeah, I didn't get that one. And for nearly a decade, that one (what I call) failure has driven me to misery and distraction. Since our wedding, hubby and I have bounced from one mediocre rental home to another - seven in total so far - longing for the day that we would have the means to buy our first house. Now, as we wait for God to show us rental number eight, I meditate on this bible verse:

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, 

and do not lean on your own understanding." 

Proverbs 3:5 (ESV)

My own understanding, up till now, has been that I was entitled to a comfortable house. My own understanding was that a house was what I needed to be idyllically content. My own understanding was that God was punishing us for not using our money wisely by forcing us to slog through life in debt and theoretical homelessness.

My own understanding is faithless garbage.

What I realized about this widely-known verse from Proverbs is that, if I lean on my own understanding, I am not trusting the Lord with all my heart. Maybe I was trusting Him with part of my heart, but that's not what He calls for, is it? Furthermore, if God granted me my few measly requests, I wouldn't really need Him for anything anymore, would I?

Bingo. In my life plan I forgot to leave room for God. So He made room for Himself.

With every move, God is knocking on my door. He's saying, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock (Rev. 3:20)!" He's asking me to let Him into my life, to leave room for His plans. And I'm finally opening that door so that I can enjoy what He wants to give me. Sure, I still feel tense about our housing situation. It's difficult to move on an almost-annual basis with three kids and not always knowing when or how it will work out. But because I am submitting to the Lord's will, my faith is being strengthened and my life made more whole.

Writer's Block

I stare at the computer screen. Blank. My mind is blank. Around me are the familiar and monotonous sounds of home: the hum of the dishwasher, the voices of little boys negotiating the arrangement of Legos on our coffee table, toys rattling, limbs clunking against furniture. I block it out most of the time, but when I really want to focus on something like writing, that’s when I most notice them. My brain and my fingers and my easily-manipulated emotions ache to spin words into a brilliant work that will cause others’ emotions to ache the same way, but all I can do is sit here and stare at the screen. Blank.

            When I read, my mind comes alive with excitement to produce, but never with anything specific. Most times I want to extend the lives of the characters I am reading. I want to create the moments I have longed for them to experience but never get to read. I yearn for happy endings that didn’t materialize on the page. I feel as though there are deep, insightful, thriving characters that lie, unhatched, in the recesses of my imagination. They peek into my dreams at night and dabble in ribald adventures of my subconscious. If I could somehow hook up a recording system to my brain when I sleep, Hollywood would sit back in awe at its contents. I wish that I could get some of this out when I’m awake.

            I mull over characters I’ve tried to develop in previous stories. They are mediocre, one-dimensional beings that never seem to have any goals beyond simple romance. Recently I read that the best and most memorable characters are the ones who portray quintessential traits. They embody the extremes of humanity – anger, beauty, long-suffering, selflessness, bravery, skill, brutality, charm, etc. I would like to create a person who is equally extreme, but I feel like all of the possibilities have already been covered. Do I want to introduce the world to another beautiful but slight heroine who rises from poverty to material or emotional riches through her resolve and mental fortitude? How will she be different from Anne Shirley, Katniss Everdeen, Tris Pryor, Elizabeth Bennett, Elisa Lindheim, Laura Ingalls, Jane Stewart, and all the other women of fiction? What trials will she have to endure to make her lovable and believable? How will I bring about those trials organically without making them seem too convenient?

            Blank.

            Another challenge: do I want to include spirituality? I so admire the way that Brock and Bodie Thoene incorporate the Bible and God and the Holy Spirit into their stories quite seamlessly, enriching the reader’s faith without sacrificing the quality of the plot. I would LOVE to write that way. Usually it seems easier to leave out that aspect completely, because it’s so hard not to be cheesy or superficial. But if I’m not focused on the Kingdom, then what really is my purpose in writing? To impress myself? To impress others? Entertainment? Simply to check a goal off my personal bucket list? For that matter, does fiction have any eternal value? If it doesn’t, why do I feel so passionate about it?

            Blank.