It’s hard for me to write blog posts. It’s just not my thing. Give me a scene and tell me to describe it in as few words as possible – I’m good. Have me tell of how the characters got to that particular scene, or what they said, and you can literally watch my mind blank faster than a dropped Etch 'n' Sketch.
God, with His ironic sense of humor, sees this as a place for me to grow. He’s encouraged me to write more by having a friend tell me about this opportunity Donald Miller put out there to win a free trip to one of his Portland writers’ workshops. He knows I would kill to go to one of those, and here is where, if you quiet intently, you can almost feel the soft, considering gaze of the Divine as I really do try to articulate why I want to go to a city I’ve never visited and can’t locate on a map, to listen to a writer I like (but don't have that much in common with), for days away from a real, grown-up job I love (which is also letting me change the world and do good).
So… to use Donald Miller’s paradigm of a Single Climatic Scene wouldn’t really work here, as much as I would like to shamelessly kiss up. I don’t know what the pinnacle of my story is, or what it’ll look like if I can get to the workshop, how my story will change, the tension morph.
But I can share a scene from the building tension that is the predominant story of my life right now.
I snuck into a conference recently. (I know! Me, typically the good girl!) But I had to. I couldn’t afford the entire conference, and I really only wanted to hear one speaker. The conference didn’t offer single speaker pricing, so I went with the intention of buying a coffee, and listening to the conference from a distance. Any crumb when you’re hungry enough, right?
I walked into Heaven. Everywhere I turned were creative, snarky, artistic people who loved Jesus.
It was as if my soul exhaled just stepping in the doors. New uses of multimedia, merging the idea of story with modern business sensibilities, finding the spirituality, the sense of community in a rock concert and translating that to Sunday morning and age-old hymns; hope reviving the relationship presented in Christianity floated in the air like jeweled dust motes. It was like I could walk inside my best Christmas present ever, like wrapping myself in joy. I wish I could share it with every person on the planet.
Why should Donald Miller, hip Voice of a Generation, consider me for his workshop? Because I have a need? Maybe. Because it’d be a mitzvah? Possibly. God does like those, and it makes a decent story.
Honestly? I don’t have a really great reason why. Yet.
I'll continue to write, to post my poems here, to put one foot in front of the other.
But if I were to voice a hope-laced prayer, it would be that this workshop marks a new scene in the story. Previous scenes have shown passion, need, hurt. The story's moving along, granted, but the tension's crystallizing. Like morning's light breaking on Isengard, hope calls into the stillness. Soon, there will be answer, because faith dictates and time grows full.
All I have is the faith of healing scars that if not this time, then next. God loves me, and together we’re writing a scandalous, difficult story.
