"I am not called to be successful.
I am called to be faithful."
I got my face cartooned at the fair this spring. The experience made me wonder if I need counseling.
As John sketched, he asked me about myself. “Name one thing you like about being retired.” I replied: “Having time to write, especially short stories, about my life experiences.”
John put his marker down and leaned forward. “Well, you’re not a spring chicken so I’m sure you have many stories and you won’t have to make up stuff.”
I asked John to repeat that. Yes, that’s what I thought I heard him say the first time.
He asked me if my writings are published and I told him no. “Does that make me not a writer?” He responds: “It means you’re a ‘Wannabe Writer.’”
I’m glad that I live in a different kingdom than John. When Jesus called us, He said: “Follow Me; I’ll make you fishers of men.” Not “Someday, when your achievements measure up, you can be my disciples.”
I’m blessed to be on my friend, Nikki’s prayer team. When her first book received two awards, God opened doors for her to speak to women in prison to testify to the hope Jesus gives after being abused. But Nikki has always been a great writer, even before her books published!
When my pastor held up a six month old baby girl and dedicated her to the Lord, a word of prophecy fell on him. She will grow into a woman who loves God and in the quiet He will give her words to write that will touch people and influence them for His kingdom.
I don’t recall Pastor saying that this word only holds true if she achieves success and fame. No, she will be a contemplative girl and anointed words will flow out of her onto the paper. Make room Christian writers; this little Kingdom changer will be joining us one day.
It is Obedience that God looks for whether He tells us to go for that PHD or volunteer in the nursery.
When I was a young mom, I told the editor of our little town’s newspaper what I would like to read--- that being a society page, sort of, with stories about the residents with recipes to feature as a benefit. He liked that and hired me on his staff of writers for a mid-week column. It was a hit. The request for “that special recipe” got me into many a home, but it was writing their stories that motivated me and made the people feel special. I trusted my editor’s critiques; I liked seeing the final outcome reproduced and liked seeing my name in print. I liked earning a paycheck while still being able to be a stay-at-home mom.
I liked my dad’s approval. He loved my writing and ordered the paper to be delivered to his mailbox. He clipped every column and neatly kept a binder of them in plastic protector pages. My folk’s friends treated me like a celebrity when I went home. My dad was proud of his girl and told them stories I had written about my town. He even tried some recipes! It was the cutest thing and embarrassing, too, because in truth I was a nobody, but in my father’s eyes, I was somebody.
In Father God’s eyes, we’re all somebody’s. There are no Wanna-bees, only somebody’s.
At the fair, I ask my girlfriend, Janet, about my cartoon portrait. “Does it look anything like me?” I pleaded with eyes begging for compassion. “Ah, let’s see.” She steps back and evaluates. “He captured your smile and that’s what we all love about you.”
“I guess so,” I reply. “Not too bad…for a wanna-be cartoonist!”