I never really thought of myself as a story teller. But, at its core, that’s what I do.
I tell stories.
I tell stories of pain. But also joy.
I tell stories of despair. But also hope.
I tell stories of tragedy. But also redemption.
Recently, I’ve been working on the story of a young girl sold by her mother to an 80-year-old man in exchange for food and drugs. It’s ones like these that really get to me. How do you survive that? How do you ever heal? Or build a life?
This girl, she’s 14 now. Fourteen. A child, still. And yet, nevermore.
She’s healing. She’s rebuilding. She’s living.
Because we serve a God of redemption.
It astounds me, these stories that God places in my hands — these people that God rescues and redeems.
I find I am not worthy to tell the stories. And yet, it has been entrusted to me to do so. I pray God gives me the right words. Words that honor, respect, and edify.
Today I am thankful for books. I’m not sure what it is that mesmerizes me about the written word, but there is something that I am powerless to contend. I love books. I love old books, new books, used books, children’s books, fiction books, non-fiction books…
I grew up surrounded by parents and siblings who all love to read and on top of that, with shelves and shelves full of books. I thought our house was normal, but I can’t tell you the number of friends I had over who were amazed at the sheer volume of books we had! (It’s a good thing my dad knows how to make shelves…)
Husband is slightly dismayed by the number of books I have. He doesn’t like having to move them. I do understand that books are heavy, but I remind Husband that he has a lot of cook books and those are some weighty volumes! And besides, he has at least as much “kitchen stuff” as I have books and it is only fitting since he is a chef and I am a writer.
Did you know that I was writing stories before I could even write? Yep, I would staple pieces of paper together and create stories using stickers. I finished my first short work of fiction when I was nine. And now I actually make a living at it.
My books are integral to my ability to write. Every good writer must be a reader as well, it’s simply how it works. And when Husband suggests I sell some of my beloved collection I give him the evil-eye. These books are my friends, they are my memories, my adventures.
I once heard someone put it this way: I have fallen in love a hundred times, and each time has been in a book.