WILL YOU WRITE A BOOK FOR ME?
Years ago, entering into the storm and unaware of the darkness I’d soon experience, I was already heavily betrayed and disoriented. We were on a routine drive from his parents' home—a 45-minute wilderness trek I had become accustomed to. I said to him out of my pain, “I’m going to write a book one day called Surviving Stockholm in the Cajun Swamp.” My anger spoke to the unvalidated distress I was experiencing, helplessly hoping he would see how alarming I found this new existence to be. Had you told me then, “You really will write a book about this one day,” there is no wager you could have made that I wouldn’t have confidently opposed.
I was not a writer; I was a mother. I had always found expressing myself exhausting. I am social, but I am not one for the spotlight. If I find myself in it, I can't make a quick enough exit without you witnessing my fumbling embarrassment. When something was important, I wrote it down so I could communicate with certainty what my mind and mouth could never seem to coordinate. This didn't make me a writer—it was survival.
Even when God clearly asked me, “Will you write a book for Me?” I blankly looked around and assumed I simply had an urgent message to deliver to someone else. I can still hear His words as clearly as the moment I first heard them. It was haunting, but not in a bad way—the kind of thing that simply stays with you. This was a bit different than when He had spoken before, though. He asked a question. I instantly recognized that and thought it must be because He was speaking to my friend through me. He is so polite and gentle, inviting us into companionship with Him. I know He knew I would take this to my friend. So ultimately, He was also asking my friend, the author. I do hope I one day get to see what the Lord and the author publish together. The thought alone brings me to tears. What a beautiful moment and a beautiful work that will be.
Two and a half years later, He was still waiting. Yet somehow, time was up.
At that point, He gently forced the issue. An acquaintance from church, who had recently begun serving there because God had called her to it, stood silently beside me, nervously rehearsing before service. Curious, I asked, “What are you doing?” She laughed and said, “I have a pretty solid case of stage fright.” I smiled. “I completely understand. I wouldn’t do it.” We both laughed as I jokingly sent her off to her doom.
After the service, I asked how it went. “Fine,” she said, “but while I was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. As strange as this may sound, I feel like your anxiety is funny because I have a feeling you have something very special to share.”
Once again, my response was, “No… can’t think of anything.” Inside, though, my stomach was in knots. It took me another two weeks of processing before I found Him narrowing the road with such precision that I simply couldn’t escape through any other route. I say that laughing because it really was that ridiculous. It wasn’t willful defiance. It was a complete oblivion to calling.
When I finally woke up in recognition, I looked up and said, “Seriously?!” then, “I know I take up a lot of Your time with my endless chatter, but why are You pawning me off on people who don't care? What am I supposed to write? All I have is years of trauma… and You showing up. But honestly, to most people, You showing up sounds like a bunch of woo-woo superstition. Respectfully.” (Please don’t take that personally. He wants us exactly the way we are.)
After a significant amount of chatter and ranting on my end, I finally grew quiet. I walked mile after mile until my mind became still out of sweet exhaustion. Then He quietly said, “Your notes.”
Then my ranting promptly returned. I have joked for years about my notes. I freely tell people that if I ever die and someone has to go through my phone, they will wholeheartedly certify me a lunatic. Every thought, feeling, frustration, hope, fear, question, and hard-earned lesson goes into my notes.
This is where He laid down the checkmate.
Here are two certainties I have learned in all humility: There are no coincidences, and if anything matters, then everything matters. Maybe they are one and the same. I wonder sometimes when I spoke those words in the car, He had to have known, right? Was He planting a seed, or was that a super unlikely coincidence? No one in this world would have bet against me in this more than the me sitting in that car back in 2019.
I am finding the story is rarely finished where the pain is greatest. I certainly never imagined mine would include writing a book. But God has a way of seeing endings while we are still living in the middle chapters. If you are reading this today, I don't believe your story is over either.
We don’t know His plans for us tomorrow. If you are here, it is not by accident. Don’t lose hope, His Beloved.
He is with you. ❤️
