I am Not Creative and Other Lies We Tell

When I was a twelve year old with wavy brown hair, rolled up jeans and high bangs I went to creative writing camp. I wanted to write books one day. Dramatic ones. I specifically remember writing a future best seller, laying on my belly on my bed, called "Hayleigh" in my college ruled notebook. I remember using a pencil and drawing the cover with swirly lines and coloring in the letters. I would hide it under my bed so no one could find it-I would be devastated and embarrassed if someone saw it. I remember writing the first letter of the paragraph real big like in fancy books. I remember it was about this woman who desperately wanted a baby. She was so sad she couldn't have one that she drank and drank and drank. She and her husband fought about it. Little known to her she was pregnant all the while and she made her baby have a spina bifida. (Crazy 12 year old mind-I know) When her baby girl was born however, she loved Hayleigh deeply and widely. I felt alive writing there, I felt a whirlwind of glory in my own made up world.

How did a twelve year old write such a writhing, deep story line? Did I watch too much General Hospital? Also, how did I have such insight into my own future that I would somehow foretell and feel these horrid feelings of being barren. Maybe it was preparation for my future. Who knows. In my teenage years, I stopped writing. No one would ever read my book. My voice did not matter. I stopped wanting to become a writer. Writers were not a worthy profession who made lots of money or who ever really made it. I am not creative enough or savvy enough or wise enough. I
stopped creating. I stopped actually making steps toward my dreams.

One day, 15 or so years later, I started writing again when I felt the Holy Spirit whisper to me to write. It came from no where and I had forgotten all together what writing had meant to me as a child. I just started writing. I just took that step. I wrote about the pain I carried in my infertility in a subversive and secret way, about the stuff my new husband and I were up to, about Jesus, and about myself. I just wrote and wrote and wrote. I found myself there. I found my voice in this world where I felt I had none. I could organize my thoughts there. It has been a solace for me. Therapy. Joy. A window into my very soul. A place I meet with Jesus.

I started sharing what I write only in the hopes others would be encouraged by my struggle with infertility- and to give the quiet issue a small voice.  I am sure no one read, but every now and then I would get a comment or two thanking me for writing. Today, about 7 years after I started writing again and about 3 or 4 years since really picking up the pen I am here.

So why am I telling you all this back story?

I tell you because this is who I am, an open book. It is what I feel called to do and always have.  Also because maybe you are in a place where you need a creative outlet.
I share my stories to walk with you, so you will walk with me, so I can convince find out what Jesus is whispering to me. My voice is just another voice in the thousands of other voices writing. I want to quit all the time because I feel drowned out by them all.

Who am I to think what I have to say is important? 
Who am I to think my voice should be heard?
Who am I to think anyone wants to listen?
Who am I with no formal training? No niche. No profession. No importance.

That all may be true but...you know what I realized?
You know who is whispering those words to me? The enemy.
The enemy is telling me I am not good enough, I do not matter, no one cares, no one likes me, my words have no value. The enemy is a whispering liar. A liar.
I am a daughter of Christ, I am valuable, cared for, loved, and what I have to say matters.
If one person reads my words and feels one step closer to the heart of Jesus, one step closer to feeling loved and cherished and fulfilled, one step closer to feeling she is not alone, not a screw up as a mom, not a failure. I will write. I will write for myself. I will write when the Holy Spirit prompts me to only. I will write to listen, commune with, and converse with Jesus and I will share most of those writings with you. I will write to grow and learn and become more who God designed for me to be despite stats on how many people visit this blog.

Look back, dig deep, what was that passion in your heart as a child? Is it still there but buried by lies and feelings of unimportance? Have you listened to the enemy for far too long and now feel lost, unsure and like you don't even know what you like anymore?

If you want to write- pick up the pen.
If you want to paint- pick up the brush.
If you want to sing- open your mouth.
If you want to dance- turn on the music.
Stop letting the enemy tell you you are someone you are not.
Stop feeling you are not enough or too much.
Stop letting yourself be short changed.
Stop thwarting who you were created to be. Be that person He made you and let Him walk with you there. Motherhood is a full time ministry but who are you as an individual? Find out. Look back. Take care of yourself. Listen to His voice alone. You will find yourself there. You will find Jesus sitting there saying, "I have been waiting for you" Also dear friend, know I am walking with you on this journey. I am cheering you on and high fiving you and praying for you. Please do the same for me. Just obey God when He tells you to write, or paint, or play guitar, or sing or whatever it is. Obey Him and He will meet you there and hold your hand smiling the whole way. You beautiful girl, His daughter.

"I don't know what I think until I write it down."- Joan Didion


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