I have fought it. I have run from it. I have delayed it. I have apologized for it—mostly to myself for wanting to do it.
This unreliable yet significant tugging and pulling inside of me for years never seemed to concede its grip of impatient want, but the fact that it didn't come easily often usurped my passion to do it. This ambition never made sense; I would even go so far as to say it tried to bully its way out with help from its allies named unbelief and confusion.
As if right on cue, doubt came as a lying thief at the first seed of aspiration, reminding me how ill-equipped and technically unprepared I was; this thing was only a hunch, after all, but to that I say it was a darn persistent one.
I am sure you have felt the battle too, where opposition—always fighting against its enemy of intuition—fully arms itself with the argument of practicality that says surely there must be something greater to pursue than this vague, opaque notion of "call". But no matter where I went or what I did, it screamed me awake and scared me alive. It never let me go, even when it had no words to hang itself on. Even in the absence of words... I felt the longing of them waiting to be found.
This is hard for me to admit because what if my "it" isn't good enough? What if it won't EVER be good enough? But then I have to ask: good enough for what—or who—exactly? Recognition? Livelihood? Other people? And I wonder, who gets to determine what "good enough" is for me?
My answer has been a long time coming, but I have finally settled on one that has steadied my wavering soul. Who gets to determine what "good enough" is for me? Everyone if I let them; no one if I don't.
Today I will say my IT—sacredly, reverently, and through a bit of a grimace and a squint not quite wide enough to see who might be looking. I am quietly but boldly making my claim:
I AM CALLED TO WRITE.
And when someone asks, "What do you do?" I will say,
I AM A WRITER.
"What do you write?"
I AM A WRITER.
"What have you published?"
I AM A WRITER.
"Who do you write for?"
I AM A WRITER.
What I have written or for whom does not change what I am called to do. I am called to write, so a writer I will be. What kind of writer, one may ask? Well, a rather sheepish one I'd say to start. This is only my first day on the job as circumstances would have it. I mean really on the job, in full admittance and acceptance of the assignment. But I'll be a grateful one I know, and a passionate one, and knowing me, a frustrated one too. I am already a published one, but maybe I'll be a professional one someday with at least a tiny nod of acknowledgement tossed my way.
But, if not, I'll be okay.
I won't worry what I or this will become, only what it is today. It is freedom to be me and an invitation to stop being what I am not. Tomorrow I'll most likely regret my confession and try to turn back once again, but I know my cowardice won't hold. I have these words to bind me and my friend to hold me to them.
If there's one thing we're good at around here, it's that once one of us knows our direction, the other one never lets her turn away from it. We're pretty stubborn that way. And our passion is to help you face forward too, maybe (no, not maybe, definitely...) because we know the struggle ourselves too well.
Where are you facing?
Where are you called?
Where are you going?
Who is with you?
Instead of turning away and backing down, how about we face those mountains together? No more regrets. No more years. No more reasons why not. Let's all go for it, and if you need help, we are here. We are your flight team, your hands, and your friends to help you lift, launch, and soar. The one regret that is too heavy to bear is the one that asks, "What if I had tried?"
So, what is your IT? And when will you try? Only God gets to say if you're good enough, and friend, He already has.
Writer & Friend
P.S. As one called to write, I cannot tell you what this article by our friend Denise Pass did for my soul. Give it a read, and if writing isn't your thing, plug in your IT in its place. Her words hold true for all your fill-in-the-blanks... and then some.
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-Tabatha & Stacey