As a child I loved creating stories. Maybe it was because I tried to pass them off as truth that I got into so much trouble for telling whoppers.
In my teen years, I started writing down the fantastic tales that flitted through my mind. This garnered praise instead of chastisement. Isn't that just weird? Makes one puzzle over the vagaries of what is deemed acceptable.
Then I approached college and again, the creating of stories, even those written down, fell out of favor. One must pursue a financially secure occupation.
So I turned to my second love, children. I became a teacher, and writing fell into a hole and didn't surface until years later when I succumbed to a very nasty disease which I will not spend time on because the whole thing is BORING!
BUT . . . this is the crucial point: I could no longer work.
Work is part of who we are. I no longer identified myself by my job and my value by my success in my field.
ACK!
Who was this person, bored out of her skull and sitting home instead of contributing in a worthwhile manner to society?
ME?
I was backed into a corner. I had to find out what God wanted me to do.
Are you saying, "Well, duh?"
Believe me, it took 43 years before I realized God wanted me to use my talent to encourage other Christians through my fiction.
Now, I write and it is acceptable again. Maybe not to the masses, but between God and me, it is more than "okay." The lessons He has taught me come out in my stories. And He encourages me to follow the dictate of 2 Corinthians 1:3,4
Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort;
Who comforteth us in all our tribulation,
that we may be able to comfort them
which are in any trouble,
by the comfort wherewith
we ourselves are comforted of God.
