Just for My Father

When I sat down to write this post, I took one look at the blank page in front of me and thought, "I don't know if I have anything important to say just now. I suppose I'll wait a week or so." But as Dan Poynter said, "If you wait for inspiration to write, you're not a writer, you're a waiter." And I definitely do NOT want to be a waiter, so here goes…

Lately, I've been taking some time off after completing my last book, To Be Free. It has been relaxing, yes, but more than that, the absence of writing has reminded me of how much I am pulled to write. And not necessarily for my audience, either. If I'm honest, when I make the transition from writing to publishing, I am almost always thinking, "Who would want to read this, anyway?". 

More and more, I'm realizing the value of not thinking of my audience when I write, and just writing for myself and my Father. Like the little kid who gets a new pack of crayons from her dad. She draws for the fun of it, and to please the one who gave her the gift. Her natural-looking scribbles for him are better than a strained "Mona Lisa" made for the crowd, anyway. They're more unique, at least. 

I wonder how different life would be if we all stopped looking at each other, trying to please the crowd. It's funny how even when you're rock-solid in your belief that your identity doesn't come from the crowd, you still try to please them. I guess I didn't realize that even I do that until just now. But what would happen if the only person any of us tried to please was Him? What if His will was to only one we ever worried about? I think even my imagination can't come up with the miracles that could happen!